


A Match Made in Heaven

by jscribbles



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001), Supernatural
Genre: AKA characters use modern phrases and there is modern music, Canon levels of violence, Cunnalingus, Drug and Alcohol Use, F/F, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Illusion of a MCD, M/M, Prostitution, Sexism, Squirting, Writer!Dean, attempted non-con, background Sam/Hannah, casual smoking, cis!female!Castiel, dancing and singing characters, dub-con situation, glamour, glitz and glam, heavy use of s4 canon parallels, minor background character death, modernized-1920’s, negative attitudes by some characters about sex workers, nightclubs, sex worker/performer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 127,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: It's 1925. Sam and Dean Winchester move to the heart of New York City’s bohemian entertainment district, seeking out new lives where they can nurture and grow their art. Sam chases the dream of acting on a main stage, while Dean hopes to find inspiration for his grand love story. After meeting a gaggle of bohemian misfits–Charlie, Ash, and Kevin–their careers are projected forward faster than they are prepared for when a miscommunication lands Dean in the lap of Heaven’s star, The Angel of Thursday; Castiel Grace. Dean becomes staff writer for Heaven’s first big stage production while Sam finds himself in the lead role, opposite Castiel.However, trouble and deception is afoot as Castiel’s body and attentions are contracted out Heaven’s main investor; Duke Zachariah De Angelis. With her services and affections exclusively his, and Heaven’s destiny in the hands of their deal, Castiel and Dean find themselves troubled as they fall in love behind the curtains of the main stage. Behind the backs of the Duke, Heaven’s manager, Balthazar, and the loathsome landlord, Naomi, Dean and Castiel try to balance their secret affair in between friends warning them that it’ll never work, and a terrifying danger of being discovered.





	1. The Misfits Upstairs

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who supported me during the process of writing this. Mega shout outs to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family and MalMuses. Y'all are the wind beneath my wings. I would have thrown this story in the ocean and let it drown if it wasn't for y'all.
> 
> Also, big thank you to everyone in the SPN MBB Discord chat. You guys are amazing, extraordinary, and beautiful souls that did nothing but lift each other up and support each other's creative endeavors. It was a pleasure to write my story alongside you guys.
> 
> Mega thank you to my betas: EllenofOz & Jak_the_ATAT & MalMuses. You guys waded through my garbage and I adore you for it. It's all shiny and polished because of y'all! Biggest ol' pat on the back and slobbery kisses for all three of you for reading this monstrosity of a fic.
> 
> Finally, BIGGEST OF HIGH FIVES to my artist polaroidcs for making art and an amazing banner for this fic. I've embedded their art in here, but HERE (https://polaroidcs.tumblr.com/post/185416338914/heres-my-spn-movie-big-bang-art-for-the-lovely) is the masterpost. Please check it out, and show polaroidcs so much love there too. They did a great job.
> 
> One final non-thank-you related note: You'll recognize some dialogue from famous Destiel-related season four episodes. That is deliberate (as you'll see why as you read.) So basically, assume anything you recognize in terms of dialogue comes from either SPN, or is a nod to the Moulin Rouge movie. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam burst through Dean’s door, causing his older brother to jump a foot in the air and spill the box of belongings he was unpacking all over the floor.

“I want to switch apartments,” Sam declared at the doorway, waving his hands in the air, gesturing around Dean’s small apartment—though it was more of a single room with a bed, bath, and a small kitchen. 

“No way,” Dean replied, pulling a face and bending over to pick up his things. “I like my apartment. What’s wrong with yours?”

“Well,” Sam said testily, yanking his jacket off, throwing it over the back of an armchair as he strode into the room. “I made the mistake of lying on my bed—”

“You first mistake, obviously.”

Samuel glared at him, pursing his lips. “I was _lying on my bed_ and then water started dripping onto my forehead. Water. From upstairs. It could be from anything!”

“Ew.” Dean watched his brother shuddered and dropped down into the chair. “It could be bathwater, but it’s probably...well, you know.”

“Shit water,” Sam grumbled, rubbing at his head furiously with his sleeve, leaving an angry red patch in its wake. “Yes, I know.”

“So there’s a bathroom above you, so what? There’s a band of actors or singers above me, and they’ve been singing off key and stomping around for the last hour.” Dean sighed, tucking books under his arm from within the box. He straightened up and shrugged. “It’s the perils of living in a big city with no money, Sam. We get to live with the rest of the starving artists. The rats and roaches and toilet water are just a plus.”

Sam huffed with laughter, shaking his head. He gestured around the room, taking pause at the balcony doors that took up most of Dean’s wall. “Your view is much nicer.”

Dean dumped his books unceremoniously on top of a rickety self and clapped his hands together with glee, hopping out onto the vast balcony which may have arguably been bigger than his entire apartment. 

“Isn’t it?” he said excitedly, spinning on his heel as Sam followed by stepping through a large window onto the balcony. Dean swept his arm out, gesturing to the magnificent view of the main road and the enormous entertainment house—they had yet to determine if it was a theatre or a brothel—at the end of the cobblestone street. “Look at this view, Sam. It’s worth every penny the landlord is robbing me of. I can see across the entire city! I have a perfect view for people watching.” Dean pointed his thumb over his shoulder back into his apartment. His twinkling eyes and big dopey grin made his brother smile too. “I can bring out that little table by the front door there and a few chairs,” Dean day-dreamed. “It’ll be a perfect place to write my book.”

Sam sighed, sliding his thigh over the iron balcony, and sitting on the rail. He looked out into the street, watching the people meander back and forth. Beggars and prostitutes littered the sidewalks and lurked at the mouths of dark alleyways. 

“So you’ve come up with a story then?” Sam asked, tucking a piece of long brown hair behind his ear as he peered down at a blasphemous exchange of bodily fluids happening just in the alley between their apartments. 

Dean’s smile faltered and his shoulder slumped. “Well… Right. A story. No. No story yet. But I know I want to write the greatest love story ever told.”

Sam tore his gaze from the free sex show happening on their shady street. His lip twitched at his brother. “You’re just missing the plot.”

“And the main character. And the secondary characters,” Dean reminded, crossing his arms across his chest glumly. “And a setting. And a title.” 

“Who needs that?” 

“Right?” Dean agreed, pulling a face, his brows knitted together as he stared up at the heavens. “Surely a publishing house will pay me for a mere stack of empty pages and a sincere ‘please give me money’.”

Sam broke out into a grin and patted his brother’s arm, sliding off the railing and walking back into the apartment. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“I really hope so this time.” Dean slid one hand into his trouser pockets and fiddled with the clasp of his suspenders which hung loosely off his hips, swinging against his legs as he leaned against the window frame, one leg propped up on the ledge. He looked up at Sam. “I hope being here inspires me to write something. I’d hate it if we left Kansas for the Big Apple and nothing came of it.”

“You mean you’d be upset if we took off, left Dad behind, and nothing came of it,” Sam said dryly. 

Dean glanced up at his brother and scowled. 

Sam and their father never got along. Sam’s dream to be a famous actor instead of a chauffeur-mechanic or a footman wasn’t something their father approved of. Granted, Dean’s choice to follow his brother whilst pursuing his own dream of being a famous writer wasn’t his father’s top choice for suitable careers either. But his father never paid much attention to Dean anyway. Dean could’ve chosen to polish pebbles in the street with a rag and some spit, and his father still wouldn’t have noticed, too busy harping on Sam.

After their mother died, his father became obsessed with grooming Sam to serve a good, wealthy family, to chauffeur them around and maintain their cars. Meanwhile, Dean’s sole job was to take care of Sammy. As long as he did that, his father couldn’t care less what else he chose to do.

“Yes,” Dean replied flatly. “I would be disappointed if we left our father alone in Kansas and nothing came of it. We’re all he has, Sam.”

Sam paused in his ministrations as he picked up Dean’s books and began placing them neatly on the teetering shelf. After freezing for a second, Sam turned away and began organizing the shelf with more vigor, jamming his hand inside the box on the bed to retrieve more books. 

“I’ll do my best not to screw things up then,” Sam said bluntly, as Dean re-entered his apartment. Dean couldn’t see his face, but he could just imagine his mouth pressed into a thin line and his jaw jumping. Roughly, Sam added, “You were the one who chose to follow me. You didn’t have to.”

“That’s not what I mean, Sammy,” Dean said, sinking down onto his lumpy mattress and pulling a box towards him, fishing out the few pieces of clothing he had. “And I know I didn’t have to follow you, but I wanted to. Did’ja think I was going to let you run off to New York City, become a big famous actor on your own and leave me behind? Nah, I need you to get me into all those fancy parties so I can lavish in beautiful women and drown my sorrows in expensive liquor.”

Dean grinned as Sam whipped a face cloth at him. 

“You’re a pig,” Sam snorted. “As if anyone is going to sleep with you with that ugly face of yours.”

Dean grabbed the face cloth and threw it back at his brother. “How _dare_ you!”

“Some romantic author you are,” Sam laughed, ducking as the white towel whizzed past his head. “Perhaps that’s why you struggle to write about love. If all your protagonists do is ‘lavish in women’ and drink excessively, there’s not much of a love story, is there? That’s just another tale of a lonely troll on a bender.”

Dean grinned but then groaned, teetering on the back legs of his chair. “No, Sam. I struggle to write about love because I’ve never been in love.”

“Well,” Sam said as he pulled another box towards him, “perhaps New York is your chance to find love, to experience it for yourself— _AHHH!_ ”

As the ceiling above Dean’s bed collapsed, Dean joined Sam in his unmanly shriek of alarm, flailing forward so hard he went sprawling across the floor. The two brothers squeezed their eyes shut and shielded their faces from the clouds of dust and debris.

Coughs sounded from both brothers and from the bed, where a fiery red-headed woman and two young men sat in a tangle of limbs, covered in dust, bits of floorboards, and bits of Dean’s ceiling. 

As Dean picked himself up from the floor, the young woman blinked at them, her green eyes wide. Her two companions—clothed as if they’d gotten dressed in the dark—looked shocked at their own misfortune.

“It’s not what it looks like!” the woman squeaked, coughing up a cloud of dust.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, then said together, “It’s not what _what_ looks like?”

The girl looked from Winchester to Winchester and sputtered, “An orgy, of course!”

“An orgy?” Sam asked, grimacing.

Dean grinned. “I love New York.”

The girl was getting to her feet, brushing off her clothing, which was mismatched and worn-looking. In annoyance, she explained, “It was _not_ an orgy, we were rehearsing a play.”

“A play?” Sam asked, eyes widening and taking on a curious quality. Dean scowled at him, knowing full well what Sam was thinking.

“Yeah,” she explained, shaking out her bright red hair, picking out pieces of wood. “Well, we were _trying_ to rehearse, but these two idiots got in a fight over the song in act one and stomped their moronic little feet all over the rotted floorboards. I mean, I warned them! There’s been water leaking from the apartment upstairs for months—”

“You too, huh?” Sam commiserated, crossing his arms across his chest.

The two men behind her groaned and nodded. One of them was a strange looking fellow with long blonde hair cut strangely—short in the front and long in the back—and was chewing tobacco lazily as he surveyed Sam and Dean curiously. 

The other was a tired-looking young Asian man with short black hair, and wide, nervous eyes. With a flail of his arms, he nodded vigorously. “Yes! It’s a problem. It’s the upstairs neighbours. They have huge parties all night long, then once everyone leaves, the hosts takes drunk baths. I’ve had to wade in there a few times to turn off the faucets, which is a disturbing experience because they’re usually naked—”

“Nice.” Dean grinned.

The red-head scowled at him. “They’re about eighty-five and the soak makes them about 50% more pruny,” she said with an edge of disapproval. Her eyes turned up towards the ceiling and she vaguely made a gesture with her hand towards the gaping hole that was there now. “We’re sorry about the floor. We’ll tell the landlord and perhaps cover the damage with a few spare wooden boards and a carpet.”

“Great,” Dean said flatly, staring at his filthy bed. 

“Charlie, by the way,” the girl said, outstretching her hand that was covered in streaks of paint. She glanced down and laughed nervously. “It’s dried, I promise. I’m a prop master for Heaven.”

“Yeah, right,” her nervous looking friend snorted. “One of her many roles.”

Charlie mumbled to herself, then nodded and admitted, “Well, yes. I’m part-time prop master…for when they, y’know, actually need props. I mostly design the costumes for the dancers and build sets for when they need sets. Hence, why I have random wooden boards I can use to patch up your floor.”

Her friend with the bad haircut and chewing-tobacco smirked lazily and threw an arm around her. “Charlie here is the brain behind the aesthetics of Heaven. I,” the man said, pressing his fingers to his chest, “am Ash. Technical technician and lighting designer. Any fancy-shmancy lighting and effects wizardry is all thanks to me.”

Dean nodded and accepted the handshake that was offered to him by Ash. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester. I write. This is my brother, Sam,” Dean said, grinning proudly at his brother. To introduce him, Dean swung out a hand and slapped Sam on the stomach. “He’s an actor. A really good actor.”

Sam grunted, rubbing at his middle. “I’m not that good, I mean—”

“He’s lying,” Dean interrupted, shaking his head. “Sam is great. Was actually doing pretty well on the theatre scene in Kansas.”

The last uninvited guest—the boy with no name yet—scowled, raising an eyebrow. “There’s a theatre scene in Kansas?” 

“ _Kevin!”_ Charlie whispered, scandalized, tugging a mismatched woolen scarf tighter over her shoulders. Kevin winced as Charlie punched him in the arm.

Sam smiled wryly. “Hence why we find ourselves in New York. I’m hoping I’ll have better luck here. I understand there’s somewhat of an acting scene around here.”

Ash opened his arms, unabashed by the fact that he was naked from the waist up, save for the suspenders hitching his big trousers up around his waist. “Oh, brother. _Brother._ There’s more than just ‘somewhat of an acting scene around here’, we have _the_ acting scene. You want to play a strapping young hero? We’ve got that. You want to be a villain? A tragic romantic lover? You want to wear a dress and shake your ass for money? We’ve got that too!”

Sam looked at Dean with confusion, but he was grinning, seemingly amused by their potentially-drunk new friend. Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes while Sam turned back to the band of misfit theatre people and said, “You…wouldn’t know where I could start looking for something, right?”

“Tell him to start up here!” 

Dean, Sam, Charlie, Ash, and Kevin all tilted their heads up. A dumpy man with big curly greying hair and a bulging blue eyes stared down at them from the hole above Dean’s bed.

“We need someone to do Benny’s old part! I’m sick of trying to watch Ash slur his way through every line, it’s maddening!” the older man snapped irately.

Kevin threw up his hands. “You could always just let me read the lines! I’m an actor too, you know!”

“Oh, shut up, Kevin!” the man said, disappearing. From somewhere above them, he barked, “Bring the tall handsome one up here so we can finish this goddamn scene!”

Everyone tilted their heads back down and Charlie sighed, shaking her head apologetically. “That’s Metatron. He’s, um...”

“He’s a twit. A dumb playwright who is convinced his stories are amazing, but in reality, they’re atrocities against humanity,” Kevin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a perfectly good actor but he won’t cast me in any lead parts in his stupid stories. I’m always something dumb like ‘the tree in the background’ or the ‘boy who says ‘Hey! Look out! There’s a llama coming towards you!’.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open and he accidentally laughed. “A what?”

Charlie peered up through the hole, then leaned forward and whispered, “He’s not a very good writer. His last play about llamas is the reason we’re rehearsing a shitty play in an apartment that barely has a functioning floor.”

“I wish someone would have told me about the barely functioning ceiling before I moved in,” Dean complained, wincing up at the hole above his bed. He pouted his bottom lip out and inclined his head towards Sam. “Hey, Sammy, you wanna trade apartments?”

“Keep dreaming, jerk,” Sam smirked. “I love my apartment. Wouldn’t trade my apartment for the world.”

They turned back to the group of eccentric guests to find Charlie shrugging apologetically, while Kevin glared at the ceiling, and Ash poked around in one of Dean’s boxes.

“Uh,” Dean said bluntly, “what are you doing?”

Ash hoisted up a stack of papers from within a box and flipped through them. “That’s a lot of paper, hombre.”

Dean jolted into a stride around the bed, snatching the stack from Ash. “That’s my writing! It’s private!”

Two skeptical eyebrows jumped up on Ash’s face. “What kind of private writing?”

“The private kind,” Dean replied, scowling, bending down to stow his stack of papers at the bottom of his bookshelves.

“Dean writes love stories,” Sam bragged, grinning while Dean shot him a look of betrayal over his shoulder. “And tales of adventure. The last one he wrote was _amazing_. It was about a yellow-eyed demon and—”

Dean shot to his feet and wagged his finger. “Okay, okay. Whoa, that’s enough. We’re not talking about Dean’s writing anymore. How about we discuss how this ceiling’s going to get fixed—”

Charlie, Ash, and Kevin all swept in on him, looking wild in the eye. Dean leaned away, scowling at the three of them as they closed in on him from all sides.

“You have to come with us,” Charlie whispered.

“Metatron. He’s a terrible writer,” Kevin hissed, glancing up at the ceiling. “If you could just sit in on the scene we’re working on—”

“—your brother can stand in and read some lines,” Charlie plotted. “All you have to do is pretend to be moral support, but really, just start feeding Metty some ideas—”

“I can’t have my name attached to another play about llamas,” Ash said, pressing the tips of his fingers to his lips. “What kind of lighting does a llama really need, you know?”

Dean leaned away so hard that his lower back bumped hard into the corner of his short bookshelf. “Ow! Uh, I don’t think so, guys. We’ve got a lot of unpacking to do. We only just got here—”

Sam was waving and mouthing to Dean behind their backs. He pressed his hands together in front of his chest and made a begging motion. His big hazel eyes turned into puppy eyes as he mouthed, “Pleeeease?”

Dean scowled and darted his eyes back to his three new acquaintances. “...but I suppose we have some time to help out new friends.”

Charlie grinned, straightening up, tugging at her dirty, paint-streaked blouse. Kevin punched a fist in the air and Ash clapped Dean on the arm.

“That’s my dude.”

Dean and Sam raised an eyebrow at Ash. “Dude?” they asked together.

Charlie crawled over Dean’s dusty bed, shoving pieces of floorboards out of the way, and swept past Sam, grabbing his hand. “It’s Ash’s very own word for ‘dear friend’,” she explained as she tugged Sam out of the door. “He enjoys making up words.”

Dean sighed, glancing up at the gaping hole in his ceiling and his bed covered in debris: a problem for tomorrow. He followed the gang out of his room, and momentarily felt annoyed for the intrusion, the mess, the inconvenience, and now the facade he would have to endure upstairs.

The annoyance quickly disappeared when Kevin went up ahead in the hallway, and Ash threw an arm around Dean’s shoulder as they ascending the stairs.

“We appreciate this, Dean. Metatron is kinda stuck in his own ways, y’know? Your fresh input will be welcome. We’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Ash grinned, sweeping out a hand as if he was showing Dean something majestic in the middle of the dingy, dilapidated stairwell. “Just give us one hour of your time and I’ll crack open a new bottle of absinthe. We’ll wait until Metatron drinks himself into a sleep, and then we’ll go to the cabaret.”

Dean grinned, his annoyance forgotten. “The cabaret? Which one?”

Ash pressed a hand to his naked chest and inhaled deeply like he was smelling the sweetest rose. “Oh, _baby_. The only one that matters. I’m gonna take you to Heaven, where the angels sing and dance and well, y’know, sin…for a price.”

Kevin overhead as they approached him. He stood at the door to their destination, shaking his head. “For a _hefty_ price,” he pointed out. “Heaven is a luxury cabaret. The angels are not cheap. There are certain angels that you might be able to afford on an off day, but the truly magnificent ones are only for dukes and lords. And, well, tonight’s Thursday so if you wish to partake in paid adult transactions, tonight may not be your night. The Angel of Thursday is on and she’s Heaven’s main attraction. It’ll be packed wall-to-wall and prices are doubled for nearly everything.”

Dean’s heart sank a bit, thinking about how his net worth was the scarce wad of bills in his pocket and a tiny bag of savings in his sock drawer. But before he could protest, Ash raised a hand to stop him. “Not to worry, friend. Lucky for you, we all work beyond the gates of Heaven. Kevin here is part-time stagehand, full-time front-of-house. He’ll be there tonight to let us in. And our main girls, Jo and Ellen, are behind the bar. They’ll ensure that we don’t die of thirst.”

Dean laughed as Ash winked at him and outstretched an arm, gesturing for him to enter first. 

Perhaps these new friends might not be so bad after all. 

***

The new friends weren’t bad at all.

But, dear God, was their play ever terrible.

Dean sat beside Metatron, watching the play through his fingers, his palm covering his face. Poor Sam, who was a terrific actor, struggled to get through the poorly-written lines. Granted, it was probably difficult to him to take Ash seriously, who was pretending to be his leading lady with red lipstick smeared poorly across his lips and had a towel wrapped around his head, trying to fake a mane of hair.

“Oh, why don’t you love me, Victor!?” Ash cried, clutching his chest, putting on a comically high voice (and a Russian accent, for some reason.)

Sam did a double take, then shook his head, and looked down at his lines, before he stared at Ash and said, “Because you stink!”

Dean dragged his hand across his face, smushing his features as he bit back a groan.

Sam did a double take, down at his script and amended quickly, “I mean, because it stings.” He frowned, turning to Metatron and breaking character. “‘Because it stings’? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“ _Thank you!”_ Charlie exclaimed, rushing to her feet from her perch on the window sill. “We’ve been saying this all night. ‘Because it stings’ means nothing. It might as well say ‘because it stinks’.”

Kevin—who was indeed playing a tree in the background—held two twigs with leaves up in the air and said grumpily, “Because this play _does_ stink.”

“Why you little—” Metatron started, getting to his feet and wagging his half-broken glasses in the air.

“What about,” Dean interrupted, raising his hands in a placating manner, “we just tweak the line a bit?”

“Tweak the line?” Metatron said, rounding on Dean and sounding perplexed. “But why?”

Dean opened his mouth and considered answering, but he knew something rude would come out instead, so he dragged his wide, incredulous eyes away from the terrible writer and just focused on Sam and lady-Ash. 

He pointed to Ash and instructed, “You say ‘Why don’t you love me, Victor?’, and Sam will say, ‘Why don’t _you_ love _me,_ Antonia?’ because she cheated on him with the rose gardener. When she acts confused, he can pull out a rose and he can throw it at her. He’ll then step closer to her and whisper, ‘What did he give you that I could not?’”

Metatron huffed and shook his head, shaking the rolled up script in his fist. “No, no, no! That doesn’t make any sense. She doesn’t cheat on him with the rose gardener. She cheats on him with the llama keeper. In the stables!”

“That is so stupid that I don’t even have words for how stupid that is,” Kevin droned flatly, putting a fist on his hip and waving one of his branches around. 

“What is with you and llamas?” Charlie asked, sounding sincere.

“They’re stunning creatures with so many stories untold!” Metatron snapped. He jutted the rolled up script at Dean. “Don’t tell me you like this twit’s gardener idea! It’s ridiculous. It’s boring.”

“It is boring,” Dean agreed. “But I had to work with what you already had. If it was up to me, they’d be having this conversation on top of a mountain after an epic battle between their kingdoms. But they don’t have kingdoms, nor is there a mountain. They just have their llama stables and—” Dean flipped through his copy of the script. “I think at one point someone gets pickpocketed, but that’s about it.”

Metatron growled. “Are you implying that my work is boring?!”

“I think he’s trying to say it’s dumb,” Ash supplied helpfully.

Metatron’s fingers curled into fists and he turned a bit purple. Dean thought he looked like he might explode, but then Metatron flailed his arms in the air and threw his script on the ground.

Well, he threw his script into the hole in the ground. Dean heard the rolled up paper hit his bed and he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. 

Fantastic. One more thing to clean up.

“Fine! You know what?” Metatron yelped. “I’m done! That’s IT! How can I continue to enter into a creative process with people who can’t even appreciate my art? _‘No Prob-llama!’_ will see its sequel hit the stage somewhere else. New York doesn’t deserve this. I’m done. I’m _done_.”

Charlie inhaled sharply as Metatron shoved his arms into his coat and shoved his hat onto his head, mumbling angrily to himself. 

“Wait!” she yelped as he wrenched open the door, “What do you mean ‘done’?”

Metatron spun on his heel, leaning heavily on the doorknob which he grasped within white fingers. “Somewhere where people appreciate real art!”

And with that, he slammed the door behind him, causing half-broken picture frames to fall off of Charlie’s walls and crash to the floor.

“Take your ideas to Toronto,” Kevin cried after him. “I don’t think Canadians have llamas. They might actually appreciate the exotic creatures instead of thinking they’re wildly useless and dumb.”

“Oh, fuck,” Charlie breathed, her eyes wide as she stared at the door, her fingers pressed numbly to her lips. “We are—”

“—completely and royally boned,” Ash sighed, pulling the fabric away from his head and wiping his lipstick on his arm, leaving a streak behind and doing almost nothing to make him look less deranged.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. “‘Boned’?”

Kevin threw his twigs aside bitterly and dropped down onto Charlie’s bed, looking tired and defeated. “You don’t wanna know what that means.”

Charlie tangled her fingers in her hair. “This is a disaster. We were in charge of coming up with a script for Balthazar to present to the investor and now we have _nothing_.”

Ash crossed the room with a lazy stride, pointing at Dean with his towel. “Calm yourself, Charlie-Farlie. Dean here is gonna write us a new story.”

Dean blinked, tapping himself in the chest with Metatron’s script. “Me? I’m… What?”

Ash spun on his heel, sliding an arm around Dean and pulling him towards the stunned ‘actors’ and Charlie. 

“You’re gonna pitch an idea tonight and we’re gonna be fine, right?” Ash asked, sounding like he was leaving no room for Dean to say no.

Dean’s mouth flapped open a couple times and he stared at Sam with wide eyes, hoping for help. Instead, his brother nervously shrugged and said, “Um, Dean’s a great writer. I’m sure he could do it.”

_“Do what?”_ Dean mouthed at Sam, looking distressed now.

Charlie swept down upon Dean, her wooly shawl fluttering behind her. With magenta and yellow paint smudged on her chin, she looked a bit deranged. Kevin crossed his arms and walked over to Dean, eyebrows raised.

“You have to, Dean. Listen, we were tasked by Balthazar Milton to come up with a story concept to pitch to this investor that’s coming by Heaven tonight. The story needs to be good, Dean. The entire future of Heaven is relying on this.”

Dean scowled. “Metatron’s play was garbage. If this was so important, why wasn’t someone better tasked to do this?”

Kevin sighed. “To start, Metatron is cheap. And also, because Heaven is faltering. Yes, many people attend on Thursdays to see _her_ —the Angel of Thursday—but on other nights, it’s almost empty. People are losing interest in the cabaret scene. There’s word spreading through town that Heaven is nothing but a brothel hidden under the facade of diamonds and glitter—”

“Which is true,” Ash pointed out, winking. “Every woman and man employed in that place will have sex with you for a price—”

“Irrelevant!” Charlie snapped, waving her hands wildly. “Heaven is going downhill and in order to save it, we need money to renovate, to install a stage and add more seating. We need a bigger budget for costumes and sets and props. Balthazar and his angels have plans to convert the place into a theatre house to sustain the business. We’re supposed to put on the most beautiful, most extravagant play in New York. We’re aiming to make a name for ourselves as the place to be for quality, high-class entertainment, whether it be a show or an angel. In order to do that, we need money. To get money, we need an investor.”

“Why keep it open?” Sam asked, shrugging. “If it’s nothing more than a brothel, then why—”

Ash pointed at finger at Sam and wagged it. “Don’t finish that sentence, my friend. Prostitutes and dancers, singers and starving artists are the crowds in which we run with. Those are the best people to know.”

Charlie nodded, flipping hair over her shoulder. “Every single person who works for Heaven is a misfit. It’s all we have and it’s all we know. We put our hearts and souls into keeping that place open. Most of us,” she added, shrugging, her face softening, “have grown up within those walls. Yes, it’s a glorified brothel, nothing more—right now—than a bar with whores and the occasional themed show. But it’s home. And we can’t watch it disappear without a fight.”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. 

Sam smiled and Dean sighed.

“Fine,” Dean conceded, rubbing his forehead. “What do I have to do?”

“Yes! YES! Thank you, Dean.” Charlie hopped on the spot and clapped her hands together. “Okay, you’ll have to convince Balthazar that your idea is worth even listening to, but he’s, well, he’s a busy man—”

“The busiest,” Ash concurred, nodding at Dean very seriously, pouting his red smudged lips. 

Kevin piped up. “He’ll need convincing, Dean. Heaven is his baby. He runs the show. He’s also really protective of the place. But he’ll be with the investor, all night. So if we’re to convince him to let you write the story, we’ll have to reach him another way.”

“How?” Sam asked, frowning.

Charlie and Kevin smirked at each other.

“You’ll have to meet with Castiel.”

Dean’s face pinched and he glanced at the three misfits. “Castiel? Who’s he?”

“She,” Ash corrected, booping Dean on the nose. “Castiel is the Angel of Thursday. She’s the main attraction. She leads all the other angels—”

“Angels?” Sam repeated. “What are—”

“Whores,” Kevin answered bluntly, shrugging. “Cover them in glitter and call them a sweet name, but a whore is a whore is a whore.”

Charlie scowled. “Very nice, Kevin. We get it.” She turned to Dean. “Make no mistake, Dean. Castiel is as smart as they come. No—she’s smarter. She’s cunning and she’s a strategist. She’s Balthazar’s star and his right-hand girl. If anyone can convince him to do anything, it’s Castiel.”

Dean swallowed hard. “What do I have to do? Do you want me to sleep with her?”

It was almost offensive how quickly Charlie, Kevin, and Ash burst into laughter. 

“Or not.” Dean shot his brother a narrow-eyed glare when Sam grinned in amusement. 

Charlie wiped away tears. “Oh, Dean!”

Kevin snorted, a wry smile on his lips. “Keep dreaming. Sleeping with Castiel is only a dream for those who can’t afford her high-end price tag. Unless you’ve got a twenty-carat diamond hidden somewhere in those old slacks, then you’re shit outta luck, Dean.”

Castiel sounded like a real piece of work. Dean instantly didn’t like her. 

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean muttered. “So remind me how I’m supposed to convince her that I’m to write this play?”

Charlie tapped Dean on the forehead, causing him to go cross-eyed for a moment as he followed her hand. “With your brain, writer boy. Come up with something. On our way up here, Sam was telling me about your yellow-eyed demon story about vengeance and family and the mother who burned on the ceiling. You’ve got ideas in that handsome head of yours—”

Dean grinned and winked, momentarily distracted. He eyed Charlie and asked, “You think I’m handsome?”

Charlie rolled her eyes and looked unimpressed. “Cool it, Romeo. I partake in the female-persuasion.” She yanked her shawl around her shoulders tighter with a snooty little sniff. “Anyway, it’s my understanding that you write stories about adventure and magic and love. If you could come up with something and tell Castiel about it, I know she’d give us a chance.”

Sam gestured out the window towards Heaven, which overtook the city square just at the end of the street. “How do you know she’ll go for it?”

Charlie’s eyes darted between the boys, and she explained quickly, “Because I grew up in that place with Castiel, we were friends! Well, we _are_ friends, but we used to be _best_ friends as girls.” 

Tilting his head forward a bit, Dean squinted at the artist. “So?”

Charlie scowled impatiently at Dean, “Listen, she’ll seem cool and collected, but just remember, behind the sparkling gowns and makeup, she’s got a curious heart. She likes tales of adventure and fantasy. Use that information.” 

Dean frowned. “How am I supposed to take that information and convince _her_ to convince _Balthazar_ to convince _the investor_ —”

With an impressive roll of her eyes, Charlie waved her hands dismissively. “It’s important, okay!? I remember when we were little girls we’d have sword fights with sticks behind the bar, and we’d dress up in the angels’ costumes behind the stage, pretending to be damsels and pirates. If you give her magic and adventure, she’ll take to it like a moth to flame.”

Sam smiled at him from behind the group and even Kevin looked kind of hopeful at Sam’s side. Dean looked between everyone in the group and sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” Charlie whooped while Ash and Kevin punched the air.

Dean smirked at his brother. “On the condition that if this works, Sam gets a leading role.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Dean, you can’t—”

“And I have my rent paid for,” Dean added, pointing at Charlie. 

Sam’s fingers fumbled as they tucked hair behind his ear rushedly. “No, really. Dean, about the role—I-I’d have to audition and get the job fairly.”

Ignoring Sam, Charlie jutted her hand towards Dean to shake it. “Deal.”

As Dean accepted her handshake, Ash nodded in agreement. “I’m with Charlie. Let’s do it, brothers.”

“No!” Sam protested, looking flabbergasted. “I can’t just take a role like that. I-I need to audition!”

Kevin nudged Sam with his shoulder and smiled a bit, the expression tiny but sincere. “Just take the role, Sam. You’ll share the stage with a bunch of others who probably won’t have to audition either. In Heaven, survival is about who likes you best and how popular you are.” Kevin scratched the back of his neck and snorted, peering up at Sam. “Honestly, by bargaining to get the role, you’re probably on the most even of playing fields.”

“What’d you say, Sam?” Dean asked, grinning widely and tilting his head to the side. “Wanna be in my play?”

After fixing each person in the room with a stellar bitch-face, Sam exhaled slowly through his nose, seemingly having an internal battle between wanting to earn it and wanting to be in the play. 

Finally, he nodded. “Fine. I’m in.”

Charlie punched the air and sighed happily. “I’m so happy my floor collapsed.”

“You’re going to fix that, right?” Dean asked. He eyed her through narrowed slits.

“Tomorrow!” Charlie exclaimed, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and veering him around, pushing him towards the door. “Tonight, we’re taking you to Heaven. Show starts soon!”

Kevin checked his pocket watch and made a noise of alarm. “Shoot! You’re right. Doors open in an hour.”

“I have to talk to Castiel,” Charlie declared, releasing Dean and walking back over to her window sill where she had been painting a wooden sculpture of a cat. “Dean, Sam, you two go back to your apartments. Get cleaned up while Ash steals some costumes from backstage—” She threw Ash a keyring stacked with about twenty different keys. “—in your sizes. It’s Thursday, so it’s Castiel’s night. It’s not, um, a night typically targeting people like us.”

“Poor people,” Kevin clarified before he disappeared through the door.

Jingling the keys, Ash snorted. “That’s right, friends. It’s luxury night, a night solely for lords and ladies who seek sinful entertainment and expensive, _explosive, exotic_ sexual encounters.” He gestured with his head for Dean and Sam to exit the apartment. “But don’t worry, brothers. We’re all gonna get real fancy and no one will be able to tell that we’re gutter rats and peasants.”

“I’ll arrange a meeting with Castiel!” Charlie cried after them as Dean and Sam filed out into the hallway. “You just spend the next little bit brewing that fantastical story that we’re gonna pitch!”

Dean and Sam stood alone in the hallway as Ash filed past them, and Charlie swept across the room and closed the door in their faces. Sam’s swallow was loud, only competing in the silence with the sound of Charlie swearing on the other side of the door, hissing something about a ‘stupid hole!’ 

“What did we just agree to?” Sam whispered.

Dean frowned and turned away from the door, gesturing for Sam to head towards the stairs. The boys began their journey back to their apartments.

“I dunno,” Dean replied gruffly. “I dunno how ready I’m gonna be to meet this Castiel. Not only do I not have any ideas on what to tell her—” Dean began descending the steps, dodging cobwebs in the stairwell. “—but she sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Maybe she’ll be nice,” Sam supplied without conviction, joining his brother’s side down the narrow stairs. 

Dean snorted and threw Sam a look of disbelief. “Yeah, right. She sounds a little too high maintenance for me.”

“Maybe she’ll surprise you.”

Dean snorted and grinned over his shoulder at his brother, hopping down the stairs smugly. “I doubt it. You performer-types are all a bunch if princesses.”

As Dean chuckled at his own joke, Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”


	2. The Angel of Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The songs referenced/sang in this chapter: 
> 
> 'A Little Party Never Killed Nobody', sung by Fergie ft. Q-Tip, GoonRock. It's from The Great Gatsby soundtrack. Listen to it here: https://youtu.be/0ZgjmE6xdaw
> 
> 'Cheek to Cheek', sung by Lady Gaga & Tony Bennett. Listen to it here: https://youtu.be/iB_e3Hg-0zA?t=43
> 
> 'Primadonna Girl', sung by Marianna and the Diamonds. Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj5L9SYhoSE

Dean understood why Balthazar was losing money in Heaven. He’d originally thought that it was merely because no one showed up, or that maybe his angels weren’t as alluring as they’d perhaps used to be.

But no, Heaven was going bankrupt because it was _stunning_. There wasn’t a thing inside the place that didn’t twirl, sparkle, shine, or glitter. 

Any walls that didn’t have brass statues or jade adornments protruding from them were a shiny black marble with engravings of gold. Within the booths lining the sides of the main hall were expensive oil paintings featuring beautiful virginal maidens and epic scenes of heavenly battles between Hell and Heaven. There were many levels of these booths, some perched as high as the ceilings. Between them, on the main floor, were arched hallways that lead to rooms where patrons could enjoy more...private entertainment. 

The floors under Dean’s feet were a firm dark hardwood, and the ceilings were so high he couldn’t even fathom how a human could have reached up there. However, someone must have because the most exquisite painting swept across the entire space. On one end began the dark scene of a man ensnared by countless arms and hands of demons pulling him down to Hell, while another man—no, a winged angel—grasped his hand, trying to pull him towards the light, towards Heaven. 

Sam had to push him forward to get him to move with the crowd of men and women pouring into the venue. Dean had been too busy staring up at the art, enthralled in the details and dimensions. He felt like he was witnessing a crusade into Hell. He felt, for a moment, like he was in a church, staring in awe around at the luxury of the room.

And the performers—the dancers, the glorified ladies of the night—Heaven’s ‘angels’ as Balthazar and his staff called them—were magnificent. A horrible little voice in his head that sounded like his father thought Balthazar might’ve been losing money because his roster of women and men were undesirable. But no one could ever say that about a single one of the angels. They stuck out from the crowd, each stunning and painted. They sparkled in one way or another, whether they had lipstick made of glitter or diamonds glued to their foreheads and faces in intricate patterns. Some wore dresses and costumes of rhinestones and satin, while others seemed to have cheekbones and collar bones made of glitter that sparkled in the wild sweeping lights of blue and white.

They even moved differently from the rest of the civilians; they were smooth, they moved their bodies like music pumped through their veins. While most of them were women, there were some men, and even Dean, who believed himself to be straight, found himself staring at the men, completely enthralled by their charisma and movements. They were shirtless and well-groomed, their chests shining under the lights, their shoulders and abs glittering with diamonds. They, like the women, seem like they were chiseled from marble, replicas of Greek gods too extraordinary for humans to lay eyes on.

“Have we stepped into a fantasy world?” Dean whispered to Sam as Ash led them through a crowd, weaving through tables towards the arched hallways that snaked into hidden spaces and private rooms.

Sam’s huffy laughter sounded somewhere behind him. “I know exactly what you mean. I can see how Balthazar is going broke. How can they afford all this luxury?”

“Everyone is so—” Dean turned, following a gorgeous red-headed angel who walked past him so fluidly she looked like she was floating, her lavender satin dress fluttering behind her like it was a thin curtain in a summer breeze. “—pretty.”

“Pretty,” Sam snorted. “And you call yourself a writer? These people are _beyond_ pretty. They’re nearly inhuman. I feel like a troll in their presence.”

Dean threw his ridiculously handsome brother an exasperated look. “If you’re a troll, then I’m the muck under the bridge where the troll shits and sleeps.”

“Hurry!” Ash said, grabbing Dean—who was still distracted by the pretty red-headed angel—and yanking him through the crowd with a firm grip on his arm. “We’ve gotta be quick and sneaky. Kevin’s booked us a table, which is a big no-no. Booths and tables are for VIP only, they’re very sought after—they afford you the best view. If Balthazar sees us in one before the show starts, we’re dead.”

“Sorry! But t-this place is enchanting!” Dean allowed himself to be tugged along as he stared at a portly older man giggling madly as he sipped on a small glass of sherry and sprawled out in a chair. He pulled an angel into his lap and she threw her high ponytail over her ear and poured over him, whispering something into his ear flirtatiously, her long, wide diamond earrings swinging near his red face. Dean watched him slip neatly folded bills into her hand, which she slipped away into a hidden pocket so quickly Dean almost missed it.

Dean had to tear his eyes away from the flurry of excited activity when Ash directed him and Sam through an arched doorway, leading them into dark hallways lit by flickering orange lights. They pushed past angels rushing towards the stage, adjusting their costumes.

“Balthazar will be on any second!” Ash explained as the lights in the entire place dimmed and he opened a doorway out onto a balcony littered with private tables, cut off from each other by red glittering curtains.

As they settled into their stable, a charming woman in a glittering black off-the-shoulder dress sauntered up to them holding a tray of champagne.

“Refreshments for this fine group of noblemen?” she asked, pursing her lips into a wry smile.

Ash straightened his bow tie and flicked a strand of wispy long blonde hair behind his shoulder where it belonged. “I can hear your mocking tone, Ellen. But we both know I look dashing and erotic.”

The woman rolled her eyes and chuckled in a low rasp as she set drinks down in front of them. “The only thing you look like is a dash of idiotic. You know Balthazar won’t let you hear the end of it if he catches you wearing costumes he paid Charlie to make, and taking up seating meant for our patrons.”

Dean and Sam exchanged nervous looks while Ash waved her off dismissively. He gestured at the tall, thin glasses of champagne in front of them. “If you were actually worried, you would’ve brought us the cheap stuff and you definitely wouldn’t have delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah,” Ellen agreed, setting a hand on her hip and resting her elbow on the back of Ash’ chair. “You have a point there. I guess I wanted to come over to see who was so worth the covert mission.”

“Mama, this is Dean and Sam,” Ash introduced, gesturing to the Winchesters. “Sam’s an actor and Dean is the writer I told you about.”

Dean was mid-sip when Ellen held out her hand. He smiled and nodded while wiping his mouth on his sleeve, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said after swallowing the drink, which was both the tartest and sweetest drink he’d ever held on his tongue. He was used to bitter ale, not this bubbly rich man’s drink. After smacking his lips and hoping Sam would bail him out, Dean smiled at her again and said casually, “I didn’t know Ash’s mother worked here.”

Ash laughed wildly while Ellen smacked him with her tray. “Oh, hush, you hyena.”

Ash grinned crookedly at her then leaned over the table, explaining, “She’s not _my_ mother. Ellen is one of our house mothers. She looks after the kitchen, the bar crew, and the servers. We have a few different mothers around here. They’re no one’s true mothers—well, except for Jo.”

“That’s my daughter,” Ellen explained, gesturing to the floor where a blonde girl in a matching black dress to her mother handed out drinks with a stubborn look on her face, resistant to the seedy stares that tried to coerce her into conversation. “She’s in charge of the floor bar. I run drinks in the booths. Ash is right, though. Us mothers take care of the ladies and men who work here and live here.”

“Jody is another of the house mother for the angels,” Ash continued to explain. “She’ll make sure they’re taken care of and that their patrons don’t mistreat them. You’ll meet her eventually.”

Sam leaned over and winced, asking like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to, “What, uh, do the angels do here?”

Ash rubbed his thumb and two fingers together while Ellen replied dryly, “Fuck, and suck, and sing, and dance, all for one low, low price of every dollar and coin they can squeeze out of the tip of your—”

Sam sat back abruptly and nodded, clearing his throat and looking embarrassed. “Right. Of course.”

Dean grinned. He liked Ellen a lot already.

Suddenly the house lights went down, the air around them going moody and blue, and the boisterous chatter quickly decreased into hums of excitement. 

“Enjoy your night, boys,” Ellen whispered, tapping Dean gently on the arm with her tray. She winked knowingly at Sam. “Welcome to Heaven.”

She disappeared through red curtains, now too dark to glitter as much. Dean and Sam turned back just in time to watch the main stage as music started playing, the abrupt beats played by trumpets had them jump a little in their seats. A spotlight shone into the crowd, following a brunette with mousy hair twisted into curls pinned close to her scalp. A fan of feathers erupted from a sparkling crystal hairpin adorned in her mane. She moved smoothly through the crowd, a small smile on her lips, her hands on her corset’ed waist, the bustle of feathers protruding from the back of her skirt dragging across the floor and gliding over the edges of tables.

“ _I don’t got time for you, baby,”_ she sang, upbeat, her shoulders hopping along to the beat. She passed around the tables, running her fingertips over the jawlines of patrons or smoothing her hands over their chests. “ _Either you’re mine or you’re not._ ”

“Is that her? Castiel?” Dean whispered, leaning towards Ash.

“Nah. Close, but no cigar,” Ash replied, slurping loudly on his chute of champagne. “That’s Hannah. Oh, and that other one? That’s Meg.”

Ash pointed at a stunning woman who was walking through the crowd in high heels so tall they made Dean’s ankles hurt. Her outfit was black and lace, curling up her legs and twining up her arms. Her corset was black and shiny, adorned with red crystals to match the bustle of red tulle erupting from her lower back. Another spotlight shone on her as she joined Hannah, though her movement through the crowd was more sultry. She said, _“Make up your mind, sweet baby. Right here, right now’s all we got!”_

The crowd cheered and clapped as a group of dancers burst out from the red curtains at the head of the room, lead by a lean muscular man in his mid-thirties. He smirked smarmily as he led his army of dancing, glittering angels, almost lost in the swinging of feathers and frills, in swinging skirts and hair thrown about as the beat picked up.

It was clear that this was the renowned Balthazar. He opened his arms and tapped his foot, singing with a smarmy growl, “ _A Little party never killed nobody. We’re gonna dance ‘til we drop!_ ”

The angels dispersed beside him, half dancing excitedly and erotically, while the other half slid off stage and weaved through the crowd, pulling the same seductive, cheeky moves as Hannah and Meg. Balthazar hopped off stage and continued to sing, followed by his troop of writhing angels, both men and women drawing in patrons that waved dollar bills. 

It was rather magnificent to watch. People practically fell over themselves to pull an angel to their table, to get a slice of Heaven for themselves for the duration of the song. Dean found himself reaching out and wrapping his hand around the gold railing that separated their booth from the floor, mesmerized by the flurry of song and dance, of erotic and playful energy that Balthazar and his angels spread through the room. He pulled himself closer to the divider, leaning over to watch. 

The angel named Meg sauntered past him and winked, her eyes looking almost black under heavy long lashes, a smokey application of eye kohl, and iridescent red eyeshadow. She looked more like a demon than an angel, but her darkness was certainly entrancing.

She dragged her eyes away and leaned over a table, her black garters stretching over the back of her thighs as she sang their upbeat song to a patron nearby, her dark red lips a breath away from theirs. She allowed the lady sitting in a booth to slip money into the top of her black corset, the paper sitting snuggly against the curve of her breast. Dean’s mouth dropped open as Meg slid a gloved hand up into the woman’s hair and kissed her deeply, pulling away after a moment, leaving red smudges on the other woman’s lips.

“Where the fuck are we?” Dean whispered. He turned in his seat to gape at Sam, who wore a twin look of shock.

“Heaven,” Charlie said matter of factly. They hadn’t seen her slip into the booth, so the boys jumped at her voice. Charlie rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards Dean. “Listen, I tried to talk to Castiel, but she was too busy, she hardly heard me. She told me to come back after the set.”

Sam nodded his head out towards the floor, which was a mess of feathers, singing, dancing, glitter, and money waved in the air by wealthy, gloved hands. 

“Which one is Castiel?” Dean asked, eyes sweeping the floor.

Bright eyes watching the floor carefully, Charlie tucked hair behind her ear. “She’s not out there yet. Listen, we have to meet with her tonight. I heard people talking backstage that _the_ investor is here tonight—the one Castiel is supposed to meet with. We’ve got to get to her before they do, so that she has something to lure him with other than—”

“Welcome, welcome, everyone!” Balthazar cried, jumping onto a table with pizazz. “Leave your cares and reservations at the door, bring only your beautiful selves, your erotic, exotic, exquisite energy—” he paused, grinning, rubbing his fingers together, “and of course, those sweet, alluring dollars and diamonds. Donations, donations are favoured persuasions.”

The crowd laughed and then someone heckled, “Where’s _the_ angel?”

Others whooped and yelled in agreement. Balthazar laughed heartily and wagged a finger. “Now, now, don’t put her on the spot, you dirty dog! She’s _very_ shy.” 

Again, the crowd laughed and the Winchesters glanced at Charlie, who still looked stressed about not being able to talk with Castiel. She did a double glance at them and explained distractedly, “Castiel is not _shy_. Just…watch, you’ll see.”

“You want to see the angel?” Balthazar taunted the eager patrons. “Our very own Angel of Thursday?”

People in the crowd cheered. Balthazar threw his head back and laughed when he was showered in money, tossed to him by people in the crowd. Coins clattered to down onto the table at his feet and bunches of cash hit him in the chest. He looked gleeful.

“Oh, _well_ ,” he cried out, acting very impressed. “You are all _very_ persuasive.” 

He swept his arm out, reached down into the darkness of the crowd, and yanked Meg onto the table with him. She hopped up and threw her arms around his neck, wrinkling her nose and grinning, her white teeth biting down on her bottom lip. 

“My dearest Meg, they want to see our angel,” he announced, tilting his head back to survey her face.

Meg smacked him on the shoulder and huffed. “Oh, but Balthazar, she’s going to need more persuasion than—” She plucked a wild dollar bill from Balthazar’s shoulder, flicking it away with distaste. “— _that_.”

In response, Meg and Balthazar were showered with cash. The angels and crowd alike both laughed at the comical sight.

“Very well!” Balthazar cried out as the rain of coins and bills lessened. “Very well. Castiel, darling, come out to play with the rest of us! These humans want to witness your grace.”

Dean found himself clapping with the crowd, curious to see this angel everyone desperately wanted out on stage. He didn’t understand the big deal; all of these angels were stunning, how much more spectacular could one more be?

But after Balthazar and Meg hopped off the table and disappeared into the darkness as the multiple spotlights dimmed, all the lights along the small stage and the narrow catwalk that descended out into the crowd lit up along the edges in a pale blue light. The crowd was overtaken in a blanket of silence, broken moments later by music drifting through the space.

Through the main curtains stepped out a woman, tall and slender with broad shoulders and strong legs. Her skin was pale and smooth like she was carved from marble, and her hair, waved uniformly, was long, the last wave curling inwards near her waist. Her face was angular with a sharp, wide jawbone and high cheekbones that were shadowed in the lighting. In the blue glow, her red lips glistened and the skin of her shoulders, collarbones, and chest shone with glitter. The only thing dark about her face was her eyes, hidden under heavy lashes.

The see-through blue dress she wore was so fitted to her torso it seemed painted on, and the diamonds in the material looked like it was glued to her skin. The neckline dipped low enough that it stopped only below her sternum, and the skirt cascaded down once it hit the top of her hips, dragging behind her in a long trail of fluttering silk. The most magnificent thing though, were the two large wings that were attached to her dress; big, towering out behind her, dark and sparkling like everything else about her. As she slowly walked out, one leg slipping out of the revealing, tall slit in the dress, the wings glided out behind her in twisted flutters of satin. 

Dean felt his stomach turn and twist into knots as she raised her face, her cheekbones glittering, her mouth parting a bit. She was extraordinary. He understood the hype. He knew he should turn around and listen to Charlie, who was poking him to get his attention, but Dean’s grip on the railing tightened, his palms clammy. 

When he imagined whores, he didn’t imagine these creatures, and he didn’t imagine magnificent creatures like Castiel. Yet there she was, absolutely stunning and captivating, and he instantly felt sick at the pressure of having to speak to someone so thrilling.

“ _Heaven...”_ the angel of Thursday sang, her voice low and raspy, yet simultaneous smooth and magically. “ _I’m in Heaven…and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”_

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Sam said from behind him. 

Dean replied by kicking his heel back, nailing Sam in the ankle. “Shut up, Sam. The girl has things to say.”

Castiel stopped at the end of the catwalk, tilting her chin down to meet Balthazar’s gaze as he reached up for her. 

“ _And I seem to find the happiness I seek_ — _”_ she sang, tilting her head, taking Balthazar’s hand and leaning down so their faces meeting halfway, her lips just inches from his, “— _when we’re out together, dancing cheek-to-cheek…”_

Suddenly, the blue lights flashed and went colourful, the room filled with strobing light effects. A spotlight followed Balthazar as he grabbed Castiel by the waist and lifted her off stage. 

Abruptly upbeat, the music changed and Castiel lost her ethereal, inhuman persona, grinning and biting her lip as two beefy male angels swept up behind her, dislodging the wings and taking them away. She and Balthazar swept through the crowd.

“ _Heaven!”_ Balthazar sang, the song taking on a jazzy quality. While Balthazar bounced through the crowd, Castiel swept around the chair of a patron, using his shoulder as leverage to swing down into his lap. The man looked how Dean felt; overwhelmed but strangely aroused. 

“ _I’m in Heaven_ ,” Balthazar continued. “ _And the cares that hung around me through the week...seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak!_ ”

Dean couldn’t care less about Balthazar’s portion of the song. It faded into the background as Dean watched Castiel lean back against the man, allowing him to drag a frisky hand up her bare thigh and up onto her exposed hip before she hopped off and gave his hand a playful little slap. She swept away, maneuvering through the crowd with a powerful stride, her perfect, uniform waves bouncing around her stoic, alluring face and tossed back shoulders.

There was something intensely magnetic about her, about the sharp eyes and commanding gait. Dean hoped he didn’t look as dumb as the rest of the crowd, watching her with hearts in their eyes, but she made it hard to look away. She interacted with almost every table, whether it was a smile, a wink, a kiss blown—or like one lucky table, she straight up straddled a man’s lap and pulled a thick wad of cash from his coat pocket with her teeth. 

“That’s not hygienic,” Sam whispered, but Dean knew from the breathy tone of his voice that Sam was watching her just as intently. 

She was strategic in her interactions with the other angels too. Dean knew they probably all had discussed and rehearsed everything, but it was still captivating. They were erotic together—touching gently, stroking, kissing—putting on an exotic show for everyone. Dean nearly choked on his champagne when Meg forcefully grabbed Castiel by her thighs, lifted her off the ground like it was effortless, and slid her back onto the stage, crawling on top of her to leaving a trail of red lipstick kisses down her sternum.

“WILL YOU LISTEN!?” Charlie hissed, slapping Dean on the back of the head. 

Dean winced and rubbed his head, shocked back into reality. He turned to face Charlie, who was standing and holding her arms out incredulously. Sam and Ash were also rubbing their heads, indicating to Dean that he’d hadn’t been the only one drooling all over themselves.

“Listen, you _idiots,_ ” Charlie whispered fiercely. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Castiel but her opener is almost done, so I’m going to leave now to go chat with her backstage about meeting later. While I’m gone, do _not_ attract any attention. Unless you have money, the angels have no interest in you, and if you waste their time, they’ll have you kicked out.”

“What’re you trying to say?” Ash asked, shaking his head questioningly.

Charlie scowled and pointed at Ash, her finger wagging close to his face. “I’m saying you can look but no-touchy, peasant boys. I know how you are, Ash; Mr. Grabby Hands. And judging by the excessive amount of Winchester drool on the table top, I need to reiterate the point to everyone here. I’m leaving now. Behave.”

Charlie swept away and disappeared through the door into the back hallways. Ash turned back to Dean and grinned. “Don’t mind her,” he smirked. “She’s just sexually frustrated because she has a thing for Meg and has to watch her fawn over Castiel every minute of every day. Every time they pull this schtick, Charlie is grumpy for at least three days.”

Perhaps ‘grumpy’ wasn’t the right word for it. Dean thought he felt a little ‘grumpy’ too, clearing his throat as he crossed his legs and tugged his coat over his lap.

***

Ten minutes later—because Dick Roman, a slimy regular, had stopped her to chat her ear off—Charlie ran through the narrow, hot back hallways of backstage, dodging angels that bustled around changing costumes or huddled in groups, gossiping about patrons. 

She heard Balthazar nearby cry out rushedly, “We’ve got five minutes, angels! Places in four!” And then, quieter, to someone else, “Rachel, darling, take a break, you look exhausted. How’s your mother? Any better?”

That was Balthazar. He wore the face of the smarmy ringleader of these misfit girls and boys, but what he was to them involved being caring, nurturing, and offering friendship. He was a true leader, not their master. 

Charlie turned the dim corner, dodging Alfie and Anna as they ran down the hall towards the backstage.

“Hi Charlie!” they said cheerfully, waving and sweeping past her. “Costumes look great tonight! Castiel’s wings were amazing!”

“Thanks!” Charlie spun on her heel, reaching out to them before they left. “Speaking of—is Castiel still back there?”

Anna nodded over her shoulder as they ran away. “With Hannah last time I checked. But she’s due to be out on stage again in a minute or so!”

“I’ll be quick. Thanks, Anna,” Charlie said, before pointing finger guns at her and calling out, “Break a leg out there!” 

Anna smiled sweetly and disappeared around a corner with Alfie. 

“Break a leg?” Charlie whispered as she resumed her jog back to Castiel’s dressing room. “What a dumb thing to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Castiel, Meg, and Hannah stepped out into the hallway, chatting excitedly. Charlie paused her pursuit. Hannah was sweet and Castiel had always been Charlie’s friend, but there was something intimidating about Meg. Maybe it was the way she drawled, or maybe it was her teasing tone, her dark features, her cheeky smile… She was scary. Completely exquisite and arousing, but scary.

Charlie stopped, just far enough that she wasn’t in the group, but close enough to hear as she gathered her courage.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hannah asked. “Did the peppermint help?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. The Duke is here tonight,” Castiel said quickly as she struggled to detangle her hair from a massive diamond chandelier earring that swung from her ear. “Do… Do I look okay?”

That’s when Charlie noticed Castiel run her wrist over her forehead, which shone with sweat in the dim light.

“You look perfect. Don’t worry. No one will notice a thing.” Hannah reached up to help her with the earring, her hands gentle but quick. Tilting her head, she asked, “Isn’t this exciting? This is that Duke who revitalized all of those old textile factories into theatres, right?”

Castiel hummed in confirmation, rubbing at her neck. 

Hannah continued. “They’re doing really well apparently. At least, that’s what the newspapers say.” Hannah leaned in when Cas bit her lip excitedly. Hannah grinned back and the girls had a moment of glee. “Oh, Castiel…if you could hook and sink him, then we’d be saved. We wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

Meg flicked her hair over her shoulder and yanked a glove up her arm, wiggling her fingers as she bumped hips with Castiel. “You talkin’ about that fancy Duke that’s got Balthy’s panties all in a twist?” Meg asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen B sweat so much as he has tonight.”

“This could be huge, Meg,” Castiel replied, her blue eyes wide and full of hope. “He makes people stars. He opens theatres that produce nationally renowned plays. They sell out _every show._ ”

“And you are gonna be a star, baby,” Meg drawled, her devilish smile twitching up in the corner as she leaned against the wall, her eyes doing a sweep of Cas’ face. When Castiel turned to Hannah, Meg’s eyes dragged downwards, drinking in her friend’s body.

Hannah nodded in agreement. “This could be your chance.”

“My only chance,” Castiel nodded, her face serious and solemn. “But not just for me. If Balthazar and I don’t pull this off, we don’t know how long we can keep this place open. Naomi will sell the property if it doesn’t produce profits again soon.”

Meg and Hannah exchanged worried looks.

“We need this,” Castiel said, visibly swallowing. “Heaven is our home.”

Hannah placed her hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “If anyone can catch his interest and hold it, it’s you.”

Meg leaned in close to Castiel, resting her chin on Castiel’s shoulder. Dark brown eyes turned up and she teased, “Yeah, angel. Hold his interest. Hold it right in your hand. Suck on it, spread your legs for it—”

Castiel jerked her shoulder out from under Meg’s chin, narrowing her eyes and clenching her jaw. “That’s enough, Meg. You’re being obscene.”

Meg scoffed and leaned away, looking offended. “I’m _sorry_ , are we going to pretend that’s not how you’re going to lure him in for this investment? Do you think we have any other real ideas? We don’t even have a play to pitch!”—Charlie perked up, seeing her opening— “You do what you and Balthazar need to do, my unicorn, but let’s call a spade a spade.” 

And when Castiel turned her face away, eyes cast down to the floor, Meg raised a hand and gently turned Castiel’s face back towards her with two gloved fingers on her chin. “Don’t forget, if you need help with this, I’m always here for you. If you and the Duke need a third, you know I—”

“Cas!” Charlie yelped, knowing that Castiel could really use some saving from Meg’s crude tongue. She recognized the look of apprehension on Cas face, and then the sagging of her shoulders with relief at being rescued.

“Charlie, hi,” Castiel said, stepping away from her group of angels and smiling softly, her lip twitching up in the corner. Charlie felt a happy flutter in her stomach as Cas surveyed her fondly, like when they had been best friends. “I have to go on in a minute, but I remember you wanted to speak to me about something. What did you want to talk about?”

Meg and Hannah left them, jogging towards the stairs where others were taking formation behind the stage.

“I only need a minute,” Charlie said, holding her hands up in a placating manner. “Okay, so hear me out. I have a writer here—a writer better than Metatron,” she added.

Castiel rolled her eyes and said flatly, “Anyone is better than Metatron. He was strange and he smelled like a barn all the time.”

“This writer,” Charlie continued quickly, talking fast—too fast—and trying hard not to inform Castiel that Metatron did, in fact, smell like llamas. “This writer is for our play, the one we can pitch to the investor—”

Castiel was distracted. Charlie saw her glance back over her shoulder, eyes sweeping over the staircase that led up to the stage. “Listen, Charlie—”

“Please, Cas,” Charlie pleaded. “You’re the only one with persuasion over Balthazar. He adores you! He’ll listen to you!”

“Charlie,” Castiel explained quietly, “there are other ways to catch and hold the Duke’s attention and secure his financial commitment.”

Charlie’s stomach did a sick little flip, understanding Castiel’s implication. Castiel turned to leave but something compelled Charlie to reach out, grabbing her hand. Cas turned back, eyebrows raised.

“What if you didn’t have to do that, y’know?” Charlie shrugged. “What if Balthazar could just pitch an amazing idea—”

A small, soft smile spread across Cas’ lips. Charlie thought maybe it looked pitying or perhaps sad?

“Whether or not we have an idea, I would still have to do those things, Charlie. It’s part of my job. It’s what I do.”

“You and Balthazar still need an idea eventually, right? If the Duke agrees to finance us?” Charlie asked. And when Castiel nodded, Charlie pushed forward. “Then meet with my writer. He writes about fantasy, and the supernatural, and love. He could provide something amazing, something—”

“Okay, Charlie. I’ll listen to your writer’s pitch, but we’ll have to set up a meeting,” Castiel said, pulling her wrist from Charlie’s grasp and walking backward towards the stage. “Understand that my objective tonight is to get the investor interested. But...I’ll find a time to talk to your writer _briefly_. Come find me after the closing act tonight to set something up.”

“Deal!” Charlie grinned, giving Cas the thumbs up. 

“Cassie, darling, let’s go!” Balthazar called, appearing down the steps as he waved Castiel towards him. Looking from him to Charlie, Cas smiled tightly and turned away, rushing towards the stairs. 

Charlie took a moment to admire her costume work, enjoying her art on Castiel’s body. The fitted dress was short—obscenely short, but was made of pure reflective silver rhinestones— and hung from thin straps on Castiel’s shoulders. Obviously, she looked beautiful in it, but overall it was the perfect weapon for her to wield to attract attention and maximize their income. They’d worked on it together with a strategy in mind. Castiel’s legs were her greatest assets. While it wasn’t modern to wear clothing that small and provocative outside these walls, it worked in Heaven. Every move within Heaven was strategic, from the performances to the paintings on the walls, to the choice of how to best show off their star’s long legs. Profits, patrons, performances, prostitutes; those were the foundational pillars of their business.

Charlie turned to leave but paused when Castiel stopped at the bottom of the steps, grasping onto the stair railing, swaying for a moment. Castiel tipped her head forward, dragging one hand up to the side of her head. Something was wrong, but Charlie didn’t make it three steps before Balthazar appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. His face tilted down to meet her gaze, and he said something to her, his eyes sweeping over her with concern. 

Castiel replied and shook her head, standing up straight.Undoubtedly, Castiel had said, ‘I’m fine’. Charlie knew her well enough to know that Castiel’s catchphrase was ‘I’m fine’.

When the angel and Balthazar continued up the steps to take their places behind the curtains, due to open at any moment, Charlie rushed back to her booth, eager to share the news with the boys.

***

After Charlie left and the main performances were over, Dean observed the floor with interest, people-watching and taking in the interactions between angels and their patrons. He noticed with interest all of their different personalities, which varied from shy and timid, to dark and loud. Women flirted with women, and men flirted with men, while others enjoyed the company of the opposite sex; clearly, in Heaven, sexual hangups about orientation were left at the door. 

Interactions ranged from charming conversations to vulgar displays of sexual acts, though most were shepherded by Jo into side rooms. A woman named Jody whom Ash pointed out, patrolled the floor and chatted excitedly to regulars. Dean watched her sweep in on situations that got out of hand, though Dean noticed those instances were far and few between. Overall, the patrons treated the angels with respect, and with an aura of awe and worship. 

Dean turned away and took another shot of brandy offered to him by Ash. He hadn’t ever had the privilege of trying any alcohol this luxurious and he was going to take full advantage of it…especially if he was expected to meet with Castiel tonight. She was fierce and frightening. Just the thought of having to convince her to do anything was intimidating.

Dean threw back the shot quickly, hoping to drown the anxious butterflies in his stomach with the sharp amber liquid. Charlie slid back into their booth, after disappearing for a good thirty minutes.

“How’d it go, Red?” Ash asked, pointing over his shoulder. “What’s Cas’ verdict?”

“Well,” Charlie explained, tucking into the table and throwing one long red braid over her shoulder, “she’s kind of distracted by the investor, but she’s agreed to meet with Dean as well.”

The men at the table high-fived and Charlie rolled her eyes. 

At the same time, the angels and Balthazar strutted out from behind the red curtains again, fanning out on stage in a rehearsed formation. Balthazar had his arm around Castiel, bringing her up in front, twirling her under his arm until they reached the end of the catwalk, when he then jerked her close to his body, and slowly dragging her leg up around his waist, one hand curled under her knee.

She wore one of the shortest, most revealing dresses Dean had ever seen in his life but for some reason, she looked classy, the fitted dress sparkling under the flashing lights. She looked like a diamond personified.

“We’ll be competing for her time tonight, so we’ll have to work fast,” Charlie explained.

***

Minutes later, once Castiel had taken over the show and distracted the patrons, Balthazar slid into the seating area.

On the other side of the curtain that separated Charlie, Ash, and the Winchesters from the other patrons, Balthazar slid into a booth. With Charlie’s newest fashion creation adorned on Castiel’s body like artwork, no one would notice Balthazar was gone. Not a single eye in the house was anywhere other than on the sparkling fabric clinging to Castiel’s waist and hips.

The Duke sat across from him, his finger tracing his lips, his cold, silvery-green eyes following Castiel around the room with something that was akin to lust, but held a more predatory edge. 

He was cunning and sharp, and he scared Balthazar.

“Enjoying your night, Duke?”

“Call me Zachariah,” the Duke said, not bothering to cast Balthazar a glance, his lips twitching up in the corner as Castiel lay back on the stage, sliding her hands over her head and arching her back as she sang (“... _all I ever wanted was the world. Can’t help that I need it all, the primadonna life; the rise and fall..._ ”) before sitting up languidly, her long waves sliding over one shoulder and into her face.

“Of course,” Balthazar said charmingly, his eyes looking over the Duke’s shoulder to meet Ellen’s eye. Ellen pointed to the Duke and mouthed, ‘Is that him?’, which Balthazar confirmed with a subtle nod. “Drink, Zachariah?”

“When do I meet the girl?” Zachariah asked abruptly, finally tearing his eyes away from Castiel. 

“Tonight,” Balthazar replied quickly, sitting back in his seat, rolling back the sleeve of his sparkling black shirt, smirking at the Duke. “I’ve arranged for—”

***

“—a one-on-one meeting with her,” Charlie explained to Dean, speaking loudly over the music, though not needing to yell because they were all huddled over the table, leaning in close to each other. “Just the two of you.”

“ _Just the two of us,_ ” sang the pretty red-headed angel from earlier as she dragged a man by his tie past their balcony, disappearing into the dark hallways below. Her voice carried, then disappeared. “ _We can make it if we try…_ ”

“Well...I mean, I _told_ her about you,” Charlie amended, tapping her chin and twisting the end of her braid around her finger nervously. She snatched up her small glass of sherry and sipped worriedly. “I didn’t exactly _set up_ a meeting, per say. But—” Letting go of her braid, Charlie flapped her hand in the air in front of all of their faces— “it’ll be fine. Just show up at her private service room, wait inside, and I’ll fill her in once her set is done.”

Dean leaned back and smirked, though it was a facade because his stomach was twisted into knots at the thought of being alone with that angel. “Just the two of us, huh?”

Sam released a surprised yelp of laughter as Charlie reached over and punched Dean in the shoulder, looking aghast. Ash grinned into his drink.

“Mind out of the gutter, you idiot!” she whispered. “You’re to pitch a story idea to her. Make her interested! Convince her that you’re the only one who can pull this off!”

While rubbing his shoulder, Dean shrugged and grinned. “So I can’t do that and sleep with her at the same time?”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at Dean. “Castiel’s job is to sleep with her clients, Dean, but for the right price. A high price. Don’t believe for one moment that she’ll give you something for free that has value to her. She’s a strategist. She’s a businesswoman. She’s professional and I expect you to be professional, too.”

Feeling sufficiently chastised, Dean cleared his throat and pushed away his drink. “Sorry. Right. I’ve...probably had enough to drink. I’m acting like an ass.”

“She’s smart. She’s sharp. Don’t be fooled by this act, Dean; she’s a performer, an actress,” Charlie continued, pointing out at Castiel as she rolled onto her stomach on the stage and dragged herself up slowly, back curved, her hands sliding across the floor. They watched her sing, her voice captivating and raspy, and watched her curl a finger, beckoning a nearby patron to her, enticing him with a lustful stare through wild waves of brown hair and thick lashes. The young man she targeted stood and offered her a dangling, shimmering diamond bracelet, his wide, entranced eyes locked on her face as she winked and shot him a small, cheeky smile.

“Every move she makes is calculated,” Charlie carried on, her voice steady. “The boy that just handed her the bracelet? Yeah, that’s Inias. _He works here_. She planted him there to entice others into giving her jewelry. She does it every once in a while to trick others into bringing presents. And it works; her regulars present her with diamonds and luxuries every time she’s on that stage. She’s a genius.” Charlie paused, and then added, “And she’s my friend, so if you forget again that she’s smarter than all of us put together, I’ll kick your ass.”

***

“I would like to…speak with her.”

Balthazar understood the meaning of that sentence clear as day. He knew what the Duke really wanted. He could tell by the way he kept dragging his finger over his lips and how he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel for too long. A glass of aged whiskey remained untouched, loosely held in the Duke’s grasp.

He and Castiel knew what the Duke wanted, what type of things they would have to do to catch and hook the Duke’s investment. Thankfully, he and Castiel had similar ideas to the Duke’s, and they would do anything that needed to get done to save Heaven from closure. 

“Well,” Balthazar chuckled, clicking the Duke’s glass of whiskey, “that’s what this meeting is for. It will be—” Balthazar leaned in and said very carefully, “—just the two of you.”

Zachariah’s eyebrows shot up and he tore his gaze away from Castiel once more. Behind the sharp, cold eyes there was a flicker of enticement, of intrigue. “Just the two of us?” Zachariah tilted his chin down, eyes widening ever so slightly. “To...speak?”

“Intimately,” Balthazar replied silkily, raising his glass to his lips. “Among other things… Meet her in her private service room after the show tonight. I’ll let her know you’ll be visiting her for your…chat. I’ll ensure she’s ready for you.”

“Excellent,” Zachariah said, and Balthazar thought he sounded almost snake-like. 

Balthazar stood, tipping his head back to down the rest of his drink. He set it onto the table with a click and dragged his hand over his mouth. 

The Duke looked up briefly and said deliberately, “Should I be satisfied following my meeting with your Angel of Thursday, we can discuss details of Heaven’s revitalization. Like I said to you earlier, Balthazar, I’m a very powerful man. I can save your home, but I require my needs met in return. I require a hefty return on my investment and...” Zachariah turned his head to watch Castiel again. “Perhaps a little something extra to lock my commitment in for the deal.”

Balthazar’s stomach tightened at the hungry gaze the Duke returned to rest on his star girl. But he nodded and grinned, opening his arms jovially. “Of course! You understand I am more than willing to negotiate.” Balthazar swept his arm out, gesturing to the singing and dancing angels out on the main floor. “We have much to offer you here, Zachariah. I’m pleased that you’re open to an investment. But now,” Balthazar chuckled, snatching up his coat from the back of his chair and sliding it on to his arms with pizzazz. He pointed out to Castiel, who was making her way towards him. “I’ve got to go. That’s my cue!”

***

“ _Living life like I’m in a play. In the limelight, I want to stay_ ,” Castiel sang, strutting through the crowd, smirking. She grabbed a top hat from one of the patrons with a wink and kicked it up her arm, popping onto her head as she walked away from him towards Balthazar.

Balthazar hopped out of the booth he was in and picked up singing where she left off, “ _I know I’ve got a big ego—_ ” He and Castiel met halfway. He swept her off her feet and carried her back towards the stage, grinning as she popped the top hat onto his head. “— _I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal though?_ ”

When they reached the end of the catwalk, they were swarmed by angels, the girls lifting their skirts, ruffling and waving the layers of their dresses, shielding Castiel and Balthazar from view. The other angels continued singing en masse, teasing, “ _Going up... Going down, down, down_ …”

One of the children stagehands who worked for Heaven popped out from a hidden door at the end of the catwalk, ready with a costume for Castiel to change into. 

As she accepted a big fluffy pale blue and black skirt from Claire, one of their stage hands, Castiel asked Balthazar rushedly, “How is it going?”

“Smashing,” Balthazar said, running his fingers through her hair and fixing one of her dress straps that had slipped off her shoulder. “Told him all about the meeting. He’ll be there after your set, I’ll make sure of it!”

Castiel tried to hold herself still as Claire ran in a circle, winding the skirt around Castiel’s waist. “Which one is he?” Castiel asked, eyes flickering up to Balthazar’s face.

Balthazar looked thoughtful for a second, his hands busy in Castiel’s hair, pulling a rogue lock that was on the wrong side of her part. “I believe he was wearing green. He’ll be in the booths.”

The angels’ interlude was coming to a close, so Castiel leaned down to Claire’s height and asked, “How’s my makeup, Claire Bear?”

The little girl smiled and giggled, nodding shyly. “Pretty.”

Castiel booped the girl’s chin with her knuckle and smiled back. “Just like you, then?”

She watched the little girl blush and skip off, disappearing back under the catwalk through the trap door. Castiel turned back to Balthazar, getting in position for the reveal again. Balthazar did the same, allowing her to rest her elbow on his shoulder. His arm snaked around her waist.

“Do you believe this will work?” Castiel asked breathlessly, putting her hand on her hip as per their rehearsal.

Balthazar inhaled deeply and encouraged, “I believe in your _powers of persuasion_ , love. If anyone can do it, it’s you. Make the angels of Heaven proud.”

The angels surrounding them broke apart, moving back through the crowd, singing, “... _got you wrapped around my finger, babe. You can count on me to misbehave._ ”

“ _Primadonna girl,_ ” Balthazar sang, while Castiel finished his sentence, giving him a playful shove away, “ _All I ever wanted was the world. I can’t help that I need it all; the primadonna life, the rise and fall..._ ”

Balthazar laughed dramatically and swept his arm out, presenting the entire room to her. “Ladies pick tonight, my angel of Thursday. Which shall it be?”

Castiel pretended to look overwhelmed with choices, pressing her one hand to her stomach and one flat above her eyes, peering around the crowd.

“So many delicious choices here tonight, Balthazar. I can’t imagine picking just one,” she announced and there were enthusiastic whistles from the crowd and laughter egged on by the angels, who were now mixed in among the patrons.

“You could always pick two,” Balthazar mused, laughing at his naughty suggestion, aiming an over-exaggerated wink out at the crowd, wiggling two fingers up in the air.

Castiel’s mouth dropped open in mock-offence, before she smacked his hand away and hopped off the stage. “You are too forward, Balthazar. Out of my sight!” she cried out, and Balthazar grinned, sweeping away, disappearing through the curtains behind them. She turned back to the crowd, surveying each man and woman as she walked by them. “It’s my wish to have the _best._ Who here has what it takes to take me to Heaven? Who here,” she asked loudly, picking up her big skirt in her hands, exposing far too much leg than was necessary, “can make a pure, devout angel _sin_?”

The crowd exploded and Castiel grinned as diamonds and cash were waved at her. Meg followed closely, taking the offerings and putting them into a top hat, blowing kisses at those who gave gifts.

Castiel laughed over the ruckus. “Do you truly believe your big, hard diamonds are enough to make me come…even close to falling from grace?” 

There were whoops and hollers from the sea of potential clients as she walked slowly, pretending to size up those who practically threw themselves at her. 

“No,” she said, her eyes turning up towards the balcony she’d seen Balthazar hop down from. She flipped hair over her shoulder, a secret cue to Michael and Gadreel. The two buff angels swept up behind her and lifted her onto their shoulders. 

“I need more than diamonds and shows of wealth,” she said breathlessly as the boys lifted her onto the balcony, setting her on the edge. She slipped over the barrier and stopped in front of a table of—was that Ash? Charlie?—her two friends and a couple of handsome strangers. The one in green, the Duke, stared up at her, his green eyes brilliant against his freckled, tan skin and sandy hair. He swallowed hard, staring up at her.

Castiel leaned down and said, “I need love, too. I need _your_ love.”

He looked breath-taken and it made Castiel feel a jump of victory in her stomach. Good. That was a good indication the plan was already working. 

The crowd cheered and clapped as she obviously had made her choice, leaning over the table and pausing so her face was inches from the Duke’s. 

“I believe you were expecting me?” she asked quietly, so only he could hear.

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes searching her face. 

Well, she thought with a little jolt between her legs, he was rather beautiful himself, wasn’t he? She had expected a portly old man with age spots and a comb-over, not this immaculate specimen of human with a sharp jawline, dimples, and the most extraordinary green eyes she’d ever seen up close. 

The angels burst into song and the attention from the crowd turned back to the available angels, losing interest in Castiel, who had made her pick for the night. The patrons focused their sights on the likes of Meg and Anna who patrolled the tables—or in Meg’s case, hunted—looking for their next payout. 

Jody, Ellen, Jo, Michael, and Luci all ducked through the crowd, moving tables out of the way to create a dance floor. Those angels who had their clients for the night tugged them out onto the dance floor, their hips moving and lashes fluttering as they pulled them into erotic dances, their bodies writhing.

“Come dance with me,” Castiel insisted, taking the Duke’s hand. 


	3. Supernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:
> 
> "I Put A Spell On You", sung by Bette Midler. Listen to it here: https://youtu.be/zaC-WDrvmUQ?t=31
> 
> Also, many thank yous to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for the 'bell' flirtation. ;) She helped me figure out that wording and I am eternally grateful because I was so stuck on that wording. I am so grateful for you, ya filthy animal. <3

She wanted to dance. 

Dean didn’t dance unless there was significantly more alcohol in his system than there currently was. He was faintly buzzed but he hadn’t drank adequate amounts to prepare him for this.

“Oh, um—” Dean said in surprise when her cool fingers wrapped around his hand and tried to tug him to his feet. “Right, well, uh—I don’t really dance, it’s not my thing—”

The dancer didn’t have time to frown because Charlie was trying to get her attention by standing a bit and waving.

“Uh, Cas,” she yelled, pointing at Dean. “This is _him_ , the—”

Castiel winked at Charlie and said smoothly, “Oh, I know who he is.” 

Dean glanced quickly over at Charlie, hoping to find out why Castiel was coming up to him _now_ and not after the show as planned, but Castiel’s hand rested gently on his jawline and she turned his face back towards her. Falling victim to her charm, he let her move his face, and gazed upon her again, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. 

She was very close. She smelled like cinnamon and lemons. Her breath smelled like peppermint.

“Come,” she said, tilting her head. “I’ll help you dance. Just hold me close. Our bodies will show us what to do next.”

Dean blinked and managed to choke out an eloquent _“...what?”_ before she tugged him to his feet and pulled him away from his friends, towards the door. Charlie was staring at him wide-eyed over the back of the booth, while Sam and Ash threw him thumbs up in encouragement.

Dean allowed the angel to lead him out the door and out into the dark hallway. He felt embarrassed with how breathless he was and wondered if his palms were as sweaty as he thought they were. He hoped they weren’t, because her slim cool fingers were intertwined with his. Dean squeezed her hand, stopping them both in their tracks. “Really, I can’t—”

Castiel turned around and looked puzzled for a moment before she unfurrowed her brows and replaced that charming smile on her face again. “Don’t be bashful.”

People rushed past them in the hallway, clients chortling and tripping drunkenly after giggling angels. Dean waited for them to pass before he leaned in a bit and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t dance in front of all those people. Could we just, um, talk?”

Castiel’s eyes went a bit wide, then she laughed. It was a lovely sound and Dean found himself smiling back by accident.

“Of course,” she replied with a small wink. “We can... _talk._ We _will_ talk, but I usually prefer to talk in private, in the comfort of my quarters. Didn’t you receive my invitation to...talk after the closing set tonight?”

Recalling Charlie’s report from her chat with Castiel, Dean nodded, though he remembered Charlie saying she hadn’t really been able to set up a time. Regardless of his confusion, Dean said, “Yes. I was told we were to talk in your service quarters.”

Castiel leaned against the wall and squeezed his fingers. Dean was hyper-aware of how close they stood, and how, even in the dim orange lamplight illuminating the hallway, her eyes were brilliant. 

She tilted her head, biting her bottom lip. “I do so look forward to it.”

“I-I have some ideas of what we could do,” Dean said, shrugging. “There are so many possibilities, really.”

Her eyes went a bit wide with intrigue and she twisted her free hand up to grasp the emerald-coloured tie that Charlie had twisted around his neck. “Oh my. Well, I’m sure there are.”

“I have an idea,” Dean explained, “about where to put you—” (Castiel’s eyebrows shot up) “—and, um, well, I mean in terms of your role.”

“My role?” Castiel said, and for a moment he thought her voice changed a bit, less airy and charismatic. Then she blinked and smirked. “Sir, are you saying we should roleplay?”

“If it’ll help,” Dean nodded, shrugging. Roleplay. Sure. If she needed to act out his idea, if that meant she’d become more invested in the play, then he’d entertain her method acting. It was weird, but sure.

“Oh, I do enjoy a little role play,” Castiel whispered, leaning in a bit, her eyes flickering down to Dean’s lips. 

God, she was pretty.

“Right,” Dean continued, stepping back, away from her. “So…let’s just talk later. I have some things I can grab from my apartment to show you.”

Again, her flirty airdropped for the briefest of seconds, her mouth gaping before she snapped it closed and she pushed off the wall, winking again. “I can’t wait to see what you have to show me.”

Dean swallowed hard, thinking about the boxes and boxes of unpublished stories he had at home, covered in dust. He’d have to quickly run back and grab one to show her a sample. “Some of it is a bit strange—” (Again, her eyebrows shot up) “—but it’s pretty wild. I think you’ll enjoy it. And, um, y’know, I hope you’ll find it thrilling. I-I don’t really know how long it’ll take to get through. Do you think you’ll have time?”

Castiel looked overwhelmed for a moment, then she laughed and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Do I… Of course I have time. We can take as much time as you desire.”

“Awesome,” Dean said with a nod, stepping back towards the doorway back to his booth. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Yes. Give me some time to change into something more comfortable. Be at my service quarters at eleven?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yes, sure.”

“Good.” She smiled. “I’ll be back out on the stage to finish my last set in a few minutes, after this one song,” Castiel said to him as he moved to turn away. 

He caught her eye, noticing her gaze sweeping up over his body. Dean felt paralyzed as her surveying stopped at his eyes and she bit back a smile, her teeth running over her bottom lip. 

“Will you be watching?” she asked.

Fuck that stupid thick lump in his throat. Dean struggled to push a word up around it. He just nodded at her and breathed, “Yes.”

“That makes me very happy,” she said before she turned away and disappeared into the darkness. 

She left Dean standing at the door back to the balcony, his sweaty hand on the doorknob, wondering how he was supposed to have a functional conversation with that angel.

He was so screwed.

***

After a quick detour to the men’s room to give his face a sobering splash, Dean returned to their booth just in time for the lights to dim once again to that atmospheric, ethereal blue glow. 

The upbeat song that a fiesty Scottish red-headed angel sang ( _“I put a spell on you…and now you’re mine. You can’t stop the things I do. I ain’t lyin’...”)_ came to an end, leading back into the original tune that had opened the night. Any angels still straddled on patron’s laps making flirtatious conversation or dancing on various surfaces around the venue all made their way gracefully back to the stage, crawling onto it. 

Castiel walked out, her outfit changed again. She wore what could only be described as a one-piece outfit that slung from her shoulders with a plunging neckline, and no pants or skirt to speak of. The half of the one-piece barely covered much. Her legs and hips were exposed, though sheathed in sheer dark stockings. The fashion piece didn’t leave much to the imagination, but the glittering raven sequins were distracting enough, and the large bustle made of black and blue feathers erupted from the back, trailing behind her. Long silk gloves were pulled up high on her arms, and her mane of brown hair tumbled back over her shoulders out of her face, held in place by a sparkling black headband across her forehead. Even her eyelids seem to glitter on them, if that was even possible.

She was stunning, of course, and not one pair of eyes rested anywhere but on her in that moment. 

“. _..’cause I’m in Heaven,_ ” she sang softly, the rasp in her voice so sultry that Dean nearly groaned out loud.

The angels up on stage reached out to her, pulling themselves close, arms and hands wrapping themselves around her legs, like they were in worship. Some even lay at her feet as she came to a stop, tilting her head back, blue eyes surveying the crowd. “ _And my heart beat so…that…”_

Castiel seemed to falter, her face wincing as she looked into the spotlight. A gloved hand came up to her head.

Dean frowned as she trailed off. It didn’t sound right. He knew the lyrics to the song and there were supposed to be more words. Behind him, Charlie whispered, “Oh no…”

But Castiel raised her head again. “ _That I can h-hardly…”_

 _“...speak,”_ the angel Hannah sang, crawling up Castiel’s body. She curled her arm around her waist and held her close like a lover’s embrace, resting her head on her shoulder.

“ _When we’re out together—”_ the angel, Meg, did the same, but quicker, holding Castiel from the other side. She held Castiel’s face in her palm, her fingers holding her cheek. Meg leaned her face on Castiel’s, looking out into the crowd. Together, her and Hannah finished the song, “— _dancing cheek-to-cheek.”_

The crowd stood and clapped as the angels all stayed locked in their poses of worship, Castiel standing in between Hannah and Meg, who had their arms around her, their faces on either side of hers. 

Castiel panted, her chest rising and falling quickly, and Dean noticed she still winced as the spot lights shone down on the angels, her lashes fluttering.

Balthazar jumped on stage and took a bow. “Thank you, thank you, my beautiful people. I hope you enjoyed the show and I look forward to the rest of the night. Grab yourself a drink and an angel for the evening, allow yourself be taken to Heaven, pleasured and seduced by their talents and grace until the morning…”

While Balthazar tried to sell the patrons on carnal services provided by the brothel, Dean’s attention was over his shoulder, where the angels all stood on the stage, primping and posing. 

He quickly realised the angels were blocking Castiel from view. She and her two friends were lost in the writhing and movement of frills and tulle, but Dean was watching carefully. After some searching he managed to spot two large angels help Hannah and Meg escort Castiel off stage.

Dean turned to Sam, who also seemed to notice and was watching the stage with a frown. The brothers exchanged looks, then looked over at Charlie, who was busy chatting with Ash, seemingly moved on from the oddity that just occurred. 

Although, over their shoulders, Ellen was in the shadows, leaning on the railing with her arms crossed, her face twisted in concern, her eyes slightly wide as she watched the stage.

Dean turned back to the show, but the angels had dispersed back onto the floor. The curtains were closed, Balthazar had swept back through the heavy red curtain, and Castiel was gone.

***

“Move!” Balthazar barked, pushing his way through stagehands and angels. They parted for him, revealing Castiel sitting on an apple box backstage, her face slack and hands twitching in her lap. Hannah sat at her side, an arm around her, and Meg kneeling in front of her. Michael and Gadreel stood on either side of their star angel like two bodyguards, frowning with concern, eyes sweeping her face. 

“Everyone, clear out! There’s still patrons to serve and things to do. _Go_ ,” he barked at everyone. The crew cleared out. He noticed tiny Claire off to the side, watching fearfully, her eyes wide. Gently, he ordered, “Claire, go fetch Castiel’s housecoat, all right, darling?”

The little girl nodded, eyes darting from his face to Castiel’s blank, sweaty one. Then she ran off down the stairs to the dressing rooms, weaving through bustling stage crew and the frilly, colourful skirts of the dancers. 

He turned back to his sick angel and her friends. “Meg, move aside,” Balthazar said sharply, coaxing her to move with a hand on her shoulder. Meg glanced at him, but followed orders, shifting over enough for him to slide into her place. As Balthazar kneeled on the floor in front of Castiel, one hand on her knee, the other patting gently at her face, he tilted his chin at Meg and asked, “What happened?”

“She’d been complaining that her head was hurting for the past hour. Right before she went out, she was saying she couldn’t see properly—”

Hannah interrupted. “She’d already been sick after the first set. I asked if she was okay to go on a-and she said yes.”

“Silly girl,” Balthazar whispered under his breath. He patted Castiel’s clammy face with his hand, but she just stared ahead, eyes unfocused, her mouth making small chewing motions. Her head tilted a bit and she stared over his shoulder, her blue eyes wide, though her pupils were unevenly dilated, one eye looking bluer than the other. His heart sank as he watched the seizure, knowing there was nothing to be done but wait. It would be over soon. They always were.

“She wouldn’t have pushed herself if it wasn’t for this Duke business,” Meg said hotly, throwing an accusing look at Balthazar. “You’re putting too much pressure on her, Balthazar. I could have taken over for her! I have the ability to seduce men too, you know! I know all her lines, I know the routines, I fit into all of her cloth—”

Hannah leaned across Castiel’s face and glared at Meg. “This is not about you! How can you be so selfish?”

“Quiet, the both of you!” Balthazar snapped, taking the hand off of Castiel’s knee and running it over the inside of her forearm comfortingly.

Hannah leaned away and Meg rolled her eyes, but they stopped bickering just in time as Castiel blinked and relaxed her hands in her lap. Her three friends exchanged relieved looks, and even Michael and Gadreel, guarding her on either side, looked less stiff.

She raised a gloved hand to her neck, pressing the back of it just under her jaw and swallowing repeatedly. “It happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, baby,” Meg replied, pushing Castiel’s hair behind her shoulder. “But no one knew, I swear. It was right at the end. Hannah and I covered you.”

Balthazar squeezed your hand. “No one noticed, they thought it was part of the show.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked, her voice more hoarse than usual, and her throat work as she swallowed repeatedly. Balthazar's stomach clenched with worry as her lashes fluttered and she rubbed at her shining temple. 

“I’m sure of it. You simply trailed off, and the girls picked up where you left off. It looked rehearsed. Now, how do you feel?”

“Fine,” she replied quickly.

Hannah and Meg exchanged unimpressed looks, while Gadreel’s lip twitched in amusement.

“Cas,” Balthazar said warningly, shooting her a playfully accusing look.

Castiel’s eyes flickered to her friends and he noticed her cheeks tint a bit red. She winced. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit of a headache.”

“Of course,” he replied, patting her on the arm, knowing full well she was lying right to his face. He’d been around her seizures for almost year now, he knew that she felt weak, sick to her stomach, and likely had a headache so terrible her skull felt like cracking open. While she was carrying herself well at the moment, he’d been around for worse headaches and knew that they were debilitating. 

He wished she could rest.

Still...the Duke was here tonight. He was infamously cold and flighty if his attention wasn’t caught right away. 

Castiel should have be given time to rest, she should have been sent to bed immediately. He should be calling the doctor, but instead Balthazar got to his feet and extended his hands to her.

The smallest flash of nervousness crossed the navy gaze but it passed quickly as he saw her build a wall, brick-by-brick around her heart, and press a small fake smile onto her lips. Two gloved hands slid into his palms and she got to her feet. Behind her, Meg and Hannah closed in like two guardian angels, hands out in case she fell back.

But she didn’t. A shaking gloved hand pushed a curl from her face and she stood on her own, though she still looked slightly distracted and confused.

“Hannah,” Balthazar ordered, stepping out of Castiel’s way, “why don’t you take Castiel back to the dressing room? You ladies rest for a bit and—”

“I don’t need help,” Castiel rebutted, walking past Balthazar, a hand pressed against the wall to take some of her weight. 

Hannah followed anyway, linking her arm with her friend. “Let’s get changed, shall we? I’m about fed up with this corset. Maybe you can help me get it off?”

“I’ll hold off the Duke for a bit longer, darling. Be ready in an hour. I’ll send him to your room at the right time,” Balthazar called after Cas as the girls descended the steps to dressing rooms and disappeared.

Balthazar turned to Meg, who was glaring daggers at him, her dark eyes furious. 

“You’re a fucked,” Meg said simply, scowling. 

“No,” Balthazar replied coolly. “ _We’re_ fucked if the Duke leaves unimpressed tonight. Go help Hannah ensure our star is taken care of.”

He swept away to go entertain the Duke and buy some time, leaving Meg standing by the red curtains with fury etched into the deep shadows on her face.

***

A hour later, after a few more drinks to relax him, Dean was observing the dance floor. While his eyes watched the flurry of movement, he was hardly focused enough to people-watch. His mind was elsewhere, on his meeting with Castiel which was supposed to start soon, and on what the hell he’d signed up to do. He hadn’t gotten a chance to run back to his place to pick a story, and he had bupkis to present to her. This was going to be a disaster.

Oh, and Charlie had been called backstage about some costume issues, so the ringleader of this operation was missing and Dean had no idea where he was going. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her that he and Castiel had set a time.

Eleven o’clock. Dean glanced down at his watch. It was ten-fifty.

“Where the hell is Charlie?” Dean ground out through his teeth, turning back around to face his seatmates.

Sam and Ash paused mid-conversation about the theatre scene in New York, and they both shrugged.

“Char shouldn’ta gone back there. Tonight was supposed to be our night off, but she reported for duty, of course. Once you go back there, as stage crew, you’ll get swallowed up. Someone will find a job for yah,” Ash said with a snort. A cigarette bobbed in his mouth. “I’m sure someone’s bits popped out somewhere awkward that she’s trying to fix. Happens every night.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be in Castiel’s service quarters in ten minutes and I have no idea where to go,” Dean hissed across the table. 

Ash sighed. He shook the tumbler in front of him that Ellen had kept refilling through the night. “Well, my friend, I am too plastered to tell left from right at the mo’. Kevin should still be at the front door. He’ll show you where to go.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Sam asked Dean, already moving to get to his feet.

Dean shook his head as he slid out of the booth and straightened his jacket. His palms started to sweat, anxiety building in his chest as showtime drew nearer.

“Nah, you stay and have fun, Sam. I’ll figure it out.” Dean dragged his hand over his mouth. “Someone’s should hang around to tell Charlie what’s going on.”

After exchanging parting words with his brother and their new friend, Dean retraced his steps, making his way down onto the dance floor, maneuvering around tables. He passed through the lobby and found Kevin at the front of house booth, counting money.

Dean knocked on the desk and nodded at Kevin, who glanced up at him and smiled. “How’re you liking Heaven?” Kevin asked, shaking his head a bit. He licked his finger and continued to count. “It’s sure something, huh?”

“‘Something’ is not the word I would use.” Dean crossed his arms and rested them on the countertop. “More like amazing. Sexy. Busy. Confusing.”

Kevin snorted. He wrapped an elastic around a wad of cash and picked up another pile, resuming his counting. His eyes flickered up to Dean and his one brow raised. “What’d you think of Castiel?”

“Hot,” Dean chuckled. “I think she’s so hot.” 

He deliberately left out the part where she made him nervous and sweaty.

“Get in line, buddy,” Kevin retorted, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Everyone in the district thinks she’s hot. Just be careful, she’s not like she is on stage. She’s not some belle in lipstick and high heels. She’s kind of serious and intense and, uh—”

“Nothing wrong with that—”

“Terse,” Kevin said, landing on the word he’d been hunting for. “She’s definitely terse. She can come off as kind of rude, so don’t be discouraged if she shuts you down right away. Just keep at it.”

Dean blinked. “I mean, I kind of already spoke to her and she seemed friendly enough.”

“Weird,” Kevin replied simply, closing his till with a short flick of his wrist. “She’s usually pretty short with anyone who shows up here and isn’t staff or a paying customer.”

Well, shit. Dean’s palms grew clammier and he slid his arms off the counter, wiping his hands on his pants. He had already been dreading talking to Castiel when he thought she was a perfectly personable, charming woman, but if she really was how Kevin was saying she was…

“I gotta go to her service rooms to pitch the play,” Dean said with a groan. “I don’t even know where that is.”

Kevin slid off his stool and curled his finger at Dean. He unhooked a set of keys from the wall behind him and lifted a section of the counter up, passing through to the other side. He jerked his head at Dean. “Come with me. I got keys, I’ll let you in.”

***

“Have fun,” Kevin said, pushing open a heavy wooden door that had “Castiel” engraved into it in gold lettering. He held open the door for Dean, gesturing in with his hand. “And good luck, Dean. We’re counting on you.”

“No pressure,” Dean murmured, stepping into the room, slowly peering around, his fingers rubbing at his damp palms.

Kevin exited swiftly, leaving Dean alone in the bedroom. He stood there for a moment, nervous to walk in. That’s when heard his father’s voice in his head urging him to stop being such a coward. Winchesters were brave, the voice reminded him sternly.

With that, Dean walked slowly through the room. He took inventory of the dark hardwood floor and deep purple throw rugs. The walls were a cool grey, light against the dark heavy paintings that were hung on the walls. He stopped in front of a few, noting that some were heavily religious paintings while others depicted erotic scenes that were jarring when beside each other. He figured it went with the theme of Heaven, after all. Blasphemy was kind of their thing.

There was a dresser and matching vanity, both ornate, with etches and detailing in gold. A bottle of perfume, a few makeup items, and a hairbrush were neatly organized on the tabletop in front of a large round mirror bordered with light bulbs. Dean stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself, feeling so odd in an expensive suit and his hair combed all neat. Charlie had done a rather impressive job of making him and Sam look like respectable young men. 

Still gazing in the mirror, Dean noticed the bed behind him. He turned on his heel a bit, linking his hands behind his back, and walked over to it. The bed may very well have been one of the biggest beds he’d ever seen, and the mountain of different sized pillows at the head looking almost as inviting as the plush, fluffy blue covers draped over it.

With the call of that bed so tempting, Dean turned away, knowing that if he lay down on the poofy sheets, that he’d never get back up again. So he strode over to the end of the room which opened up into a large balcony. 

“Wow,” he breathed, realising he must’ve been on the top floor of Heaven. He was high up with a view not only of the concrete and cobblestone square in front of the steps to the club, but also the entire long street leading to its front doors. He could see his own apartment building and in the distance, the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

Dean spun around when a low, raspy voice jerked him out of his surveillance of the city. He reached back and grabbed the railing to steady himself. The sight of Castiel standing at the foot of her bed watching him made his throat go dry.

She stood there, leaning on the iron frame of the bed, her hand wrapped around the top, holding her weight. She wore a dark blue babydoll and a beige see-through chiffon robe, the fabric of the babydoll hanging off of her shoulders by thin strings and clinging to the curves of her breasts and hips. Dean had a very hard time focusing, trying to look at her face instead of the long, toned legs, the shining high heels, and broad shoulders. When he did manage to concentrate on meeting her eye, they were equally as mesmerizing. 

“The view,” he choked out, “is great.”

 _Good comeback,_ he told himself mockingly. _Such wit._ He cleared his throat and tried again. “How’s yours?”

Immediately, he felt like clapping his hand to his forehead. ‘ _How’s yours’? How does that even make sense, Dean? She thinks your an idiot now._ He put a hand on his hip and rubbed his forehead. “I mean, uh—”

“My view is delightful,” Castiel replied without missing a beat. She tilted her head up at him a bit and there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m rather enjoying it. Though the typical landscapes may soon pale in comparison, so perhaps you should join me down here before I become disenchanted with my boring old view.”

While he knew she made a living speaking this way to men, Dean couldn’t help but feel very much flattered. “Right,” he nodded, walking back into the room and approaching her, his anxiety rising as the distance between them lessened. He stopped at the corner of the bed, his hand resting on the rail. She was close enough now that he could see the bright blues of her eyes and smell her perfume. He realised now that seeing her from a distance at the show had been a disservice. Her face was ridiculously beautiful and her eyes were captivating.

His hand gripped the railing hard. “Thanks for, uh, taking the time to talk to me. I know you’re really busy tonight.”

Castiel brushed her hair over her shoulder and surveyed him curiously. “I cleared my schedule for you as soon as I understood we were to have a meeting. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, so you heard all about the riches and charming personality, then?” Dean joked, grinning.

Castiel’s shoulders jumped a bit as she laughed, a sound which managed to sound sultry too. “Of course.”

Then she stepped forward and pressed a hand to his chest, getting way, _way_ into his personal space.

Dean stepped back, hearing Charlie’s voice in his head, barking at him to stay professional. Though, frankly, he couldn’t imagine how he was expected to stay professional when there was a half-naked girl moving into his personal bubble and making overt flirtations at him. Hadn’t Charlie said Castiel wouldn’t give anything away for free? Hadn’t she warned him that Castiel was a professional too? He was starting to believe those warnings were full of shit.

“Anyway,” Dean walked backwards around the corner of the bed, waving his hands a bit as he spoke, “we should get started. Should we discuss details—” She was following him around the bed, her intense eyes locked on his. Dean stumbled a bit, saying in a rush, “—or do you want me to give it to you fast and dirty?”

Castiel paused in her pursuit, head tilting a bit. “However you want to give it to me.”

Dean swerved around her, dodging another touch of hers. He pressed a fist to his lips and cleared his throat.

“Right, um, well.” Dean turned on his heel to face her again and jumped a bit when she was right there, a foot from him. 

“Jeeze!” he growled before he could help himself. “Don’t do that!”

To her credit, Castiel did look ashamed. She licked her lips and diverted her eyes for a moment, stepping back. “My apologies.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean immediately said, flashing her a smile and holding out a placating hand. “You’re just, uh, very light of foot. I didn’t expect you to be there. Someone should tie a bell on you.”

Again, Dean felt like clapping his hand to his forehead, but Castiel didn’t look offended. Rather, she actually smiled, and walked towards him, one brow raised. “Of all the things I’ve been tied up with before, a bell is certainly new.”

Oh, dear, dear, sweet baby Jesus. Dean following her as she moved closer. She’d lost him on the story-front. He had no idea what the hell she was talking about anymore. 

He expected her to stop in front of him, which she did. But what he didn’t expect was for her hand to cup his cock through his pants abruptly and for her to whisper close to his lips, “You want to tie me up and ring my bell?”

Dean choked out loud, accidentally rocking forward into her hand. 

“Oh, G--” He licked his lips, trying to find words to say. “T-This is very distracting.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her lips dragging across his jawline. “I intend to distract you all night long.”

 _Mouth, words, go._ “It’s so hard--” he gasped when she started unbuttoning his trousers. She slid her hand in his pants in one swift movement. His stomach did a flip and he grabbed onto her shoulders when she began pumping at his semi-hard cock through his underwear. 

“Yes, it is hard,” she breathed into his ear.

Dean snatched his hands from her shoulders and he pushed her hand away. “N-No, I mean, it’s hard to focus on talking to you when, um, you’re being distracting.”

He realised that was the dumbest sentence to come out of his mouth possibly ever, but his brain wasn’t working right at that moment.

Castiel stared up at him challengingly. “I thought that was the point?”

“I...I just thought we might talk, y’know? To get the inspiration flowing--”

“I could give you a hand--” her fingers began creeping in through the front of his pants again, “--to get your inspiration flowing.”

“With our mouths,” Dean murmured, eyes fluttering closed for a second when she cupped him again. “I-I mean, with our words.”

“Pity,” she murmured against his lips again, her big eyes searching his face, “I do so enjoy using my mouth.”

***

Charlie yanked up her skirt to help her run faster, hoisting herself up the stairs by the railing. 

“Fuck, I am so late,” she whispered to herself, dodging around angels and patrons as they walked through the side hallways by the service rooms. 

She hadn’t meant to get caught up in work. It was supposed to be her night off, for Christ’s sake! The angels were supposed to fend for themselves tonight when it came to costumes, but that’s what she got for showing up at work on a night off. Something was bound to go wrong and someone would undoubtedly come find her. 

Between Michael complaining that his overly-tight shorts had been ripped, Rachel’s client spilling wine all over her clothing, Anna complaining that her client couldn’t take off her corset and had gotten the ribbon all tangled, and Claire asking for Castiel’s house coat in a frantic rush for some reason, Charlie had gotten stuck backstage for nearly an hour.

What was worse was that Castiel was nowhere to be found. Her dressing room was empty, and Charlie’d just missed Hannah and Meg, watching them from a distance taking a client into one of the service rooms. 

To put a cherry on top of the cake, when she arrived at their booth, Ash and Sam were no longer seated at the table. Charlie, with a string of choice words under her breath, tore back out onto the floor, bouncing up and down to try to spot Sam’s enormous frame over the sea of people.

Thankfully, when she went to go panic at Kevin about tonight’s series of disasters, Sam and Ash were leaning on the front-of-house counter, chatting with the door boy. While it was tempting to scold them, Charlie didn’t have time. She ran up to her friends and asked frantically, “Have you see Dean?”

Sam turned to her and frowned. “He went up to Castiel’s service room like you told him to.”

Charlie’s hands pressed against the sides of her face, dragging down, pulling at her features. “Oh no.”

The boys all exchanged looks. Kevin narrowed his eyes at her. “Dean came up here not even ten minutes ago and told me he was supposed to meet with Castiel at eleven.”

“You didn’t let him in, did you?” Charlie asked with a groan, tipping her head back.

Kevin scoffed and picked up his keys from the desk, jingling them. “Security privileges, Charlie. Of course, I let him in. Wasn’t that the point of tonight?”

Charlie dug her nails into her face and growled. “Nooo. I hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to Castiel yet! I mean, we spoke, but I went to go find her after her set to decide a time and place, and I couldn’t find her. Not to mention every single angel in this place seemed to have some kind of wardrobe malfunction at the same time and needed it fixed yesterday.”

“What’s the big deal?” Sam asked, scowling. “I thought you wanted him to talk to Castiel after the show anyway?”

Charlie placed her hands down on the counter and replied in a clipped manner, “Yes, but Castiel and I were supposed to work out a time because she’s supposed to see the Duke after the show.”

Ash tittered. “Oooooooh, shit. Dean-o is in trouble.”

Charlie melted over the counter, forehead pressed into the wood. “We are royally fucked. Castiel is going to be so annoyed. She’s gonna think I tried to slip this meeting in without her permission, like right in the middle of her important night with the investor.”

Ash tugged a cigarette from his front pocket and struck a match. “Well, so much for this plan. She’s never going to green-light our idea if she thinks we tried to trick her into listening to it.”

Kevin poked at Charlie’s head. “Hey. Hey, get your head off my counter. It’s only 11:02, maybe Castiel is running late. You might be able to intercept her or get Dean out of her room before she gets there.”

“Or before the investor gets there,” Ash added, slurring drunkenly. “Maybe the investor doesn’t like sloppy seconds.”

Aghast at Ash’ rudeness, Charlie punched him in the shoulder.

“Yeah, but Dean isn’t going to have sex with her,” Sam chided.

Ash rubbed at his arm where Charlie hit him, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Duke don’t know that.”

Everyone looked at him, mouths open. Charlie looked mortified. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I was so worried about Castiel that I didn’t even think of the investor. Oh, shit. We...we gotta go! We gotta go to her rooms and try to stop this.” 

Charlie swept away.

“What’s the issue?” Sam shrugged. “Aren’t the service rooms like right around the corner?”

Kevin swept around the counter, lifting it and clicking it closed behind him as he joined them on the other side. “Nope. Castiel’s room is on the top floor. They pay a hefty price for her, so she’s got a pretty elaborate room with a view and stuff. It helps with appearance: more money, more exclusivity, y’know?”

Charlie’s voice rang out from up in the stairwell. “Hurry up, keeper of the keys! We don’t have any more time to waste!”

***

 _Oh, dear Lord, is this Heaven or Hell?_ Dean thought as the warm grip of Castiel’s hand made his mind (and blood) go to all the wrong places. 

“Oh, um, well, y’know,” Dean choked out, sliding out from where he was trapped between her and her vanity. His crotch felt cold in comparison as her warm hand dropped away. “I-I was more so hoping that we could _just_ talk...uh, first.”

To hell with what Charlie said. If the girl wanted to fuck him, he wasn’t going to stop her. Clearly, she wanted what she wanted. Though he didn’t understand what was happening or what changed. He had been prepared for a chat with Castiel about the play, but she seemed more interested in fucking him than hearing about his ideas. 

He didn’t understand the quick flash of frustration that crossed her features before she looked confused, then curious. “You want to _talk_ first?”

“Yes,” Dean replied deliberately. “I have ideas.”

“Oh,” she breathed in realization. “You want to _talk_ first. I understand now.” She slid back, sitting on the vanity desk, sliding one leg up onto the stool. “Of course, of course. Tell me what you had in mind.”

“Well,” Dean said, struggling not to look down where her skirt slid up her thigh and was revealing, “I have ideas, but if you have some of your own, feel free to stop me and interject… I…”

She stared at him as he struggled to find words. 

Dean signed and rubbed his forehead. “I should have brought my brother. He’s a lot better at this than me.”

Castiel’s mouth dropped open and she stared at him through wide eyes. “You were going to bring your brother?”

“Yeah, we usually do everything together. He offered to come, but I figured I should do this one on my own.”

Her lashes fluttered and Castiel breathed, looking overwhelmed, “You...could have brought your brother, I suppose.” She paused, running a hand over her thigh. “Is he big?”

Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah. He’s huge like a moose.”

Her knees pressed together and Castiel swallowed. “Oh, uh…”

“I mean, like, he’s tall. People call _me_ the short one.”

He was met with a giggle and her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. “Yes, height. _That’s_ what I was asking about. Anyway, I’m glad you came alone. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with more than one person on such short notice.”

“Oh, well,” Dean shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Next time.”

She crossed and then uncrossed her legs. “Of course. I mean, I’d love to have both of you.”

“Anyway, this is, uh, a collaborative type of thing,” Dean went on, trying to get back on track. “So I did want to speak to you first and go over some details. I thought maybe I could get your approval on some creative choices.”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded, her eyes searching his face like she was trying to figure him out. Or maybe he had something on his face. “Such a refreshing outlook. I’m not typically given that option.”

“Well, I want you to be involved.”

Castiel rested back against her vanity, a finger tracing her lips. She looked impressed, her eyes glittering with amusement as she watched him pace.

“Most people just tell me what to do and say,” she explained. ”And where to put me. Most don’t typically ask for my input.”

Dean shook his head. “Well, to be frank, that seems unreasonable. You’re heavily involved, you should have input on the direction we take.” He regained his pacing, the wheels turning in his head as he fished for inspiration, for some storyline that she might care enough about to pitch it to the investor. 

***

The boys watched Charlie’s face as her ear pressed to the door. 

“Well?” Kevin asked in a whisper.

Charlie’s mouth hung open and her brow furrowed. “I...don’t understand what’s going on.”

Sam pressed his ear to the door too, barely making out any words, though he didn’t specifically hear anyone sounding angry. “I can hear Dean,” Sam murmured.

“And that’s definitely Castiel’s voice,” Charlie added. “But...I can’t really hear anything? She doesn’t sound pissed off, so I don’t want to knock and interrupt, just in case it’s going well.”

“Is there a better way for us to do this?” Sam asked, leaning away from the door and looking down at Charlie, who was crouched.

“There’s the balcony,” Kevin suggested quietly. “We could go up to the roof and sneak down onto the balcony. We’d know exactly what they’re talking about.”

“Let’s do that,” Ash whispered, hopping to his feet and striding down the corridor. “I can have a smoke up there.”

***

Castiel lifted herself away from the vanity and slowly walked towards Dean. 

Dean stepped back in response. His throat felt dry. “I didn’t get a chance to go back to my room and grab those things I wanted to show you. But, uh, well, I have other ideas about what we can do. To be honest—” he rubbed at his hair. “—I have some pretty wild dreams we can work from to come up with something.”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel nodded. One heel clicked slowly in front of the other. “Tell me about all of your big ideas. I want all the dark, naughty ideas you have for me.”

Dean gaped at her and scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how to handle this erotic, ridiculous-turned-on woman. In any other situation, he would have been on this like butter on toast, but he knew Sam’s career might take off with this show, so Dean continued to step away from her as she approached him.

“Um, well, less naughty and more romantic, really,” he suggested, shrugging. When her eyebrows shot up and she looked thrown for a moment, Dean prattled on. “I have lots of ideas. Y’know, from dreams. I’ll tell you all about them.”

“Wet dreams?” Castiel asked, her hand sliding to the sash around her waist that holding the beige robe closed.

Jesus Christ, maybe he _should_ just fuck her first. Maybe if he did, she might be able to focus on _literally anything else._

“Um, no,” he replied, stumbling up onto the steps to the balcony. The night breeze blew through his hair. “These dreams are about adventures and far off lands, and magic—” 

He was out on the balcony now and he’d have nowhere to back up if his butt hit the railing. Dean turned his head to look out behind him when he found himself staring at Sam, Kevin, Charlie, and Ash all mid-creep down a set of iron stars off to the side. They all looked stunned, their eyes wide, frozen mid-step. Dean’s mouth dropped open and his head turned to Castiel, who was almost out onto the balcony with him.

Shit!

Dean swept forward and grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, spinning them both around. She yelped a bit, grabbing his elbow as he led her back into the room, away from his eavesdropping group of friends.

“What are you—” Castiel started, losing her air of seduction and actually sounding annoyed.

“Sit,” Dean commanded, gently but firmly sitting her down on the edge of the bed. “Just, um, sit and listen.”

“Sit…” Castiel repeated back, staring blankly at him, her brows raised. “Okay.”

Dean clapped his hands together and tried to get back on track, though his brain was frazzled now, between the girl with no attention span wanting to fuck him and his brother and friends sneaking around to eavesdrop from the balcony. 

_What a circus._

He cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “It’s important that we have a backstory.”

Castiel reached up and scratched her forehead, looking awkward. “Yes…right, we need a backstory for the...roleplay.”

She sounded like she did _not_ think they needed a backstory. 

Dean frowned. “No, not for role play, for the _actual_ play.”

Castiel blinked, sitting up straight. “For the actual play? Forgive me, I don’t believe we’re on the same page.”

“No,” Dean agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think we are. You see, your friend Charlie told me that you’re thinking of putting on a stage play.”

“Charlie spoke to you about the play?” Castiel asked in surprise, that seductive tone disappearing again, replaced with a flatter expression of shock. “Is that why you were sitting with her at the table? I admit I was confused when I saw you two together earlier.” Castiel's confused expression turned concerned. “Sir, I sincerely hope she wasn’t pestering you about it. She’s just very passionate about—” 

Dean waved his hands in the air, panic fluttering in his stomach. “Oh! No, no, no. Nothing like that. Charlie is fantastic. She’s just very interested in putting on this play and...I love theatre, you see.”

It was only partially true. Theatre was great and all, but Dean’s passion was writing novels. He spent a lot of time in the theatre scene because of Sam—he’d even written a few plays back home—but he would never love theatre like Sam or Heaven’s bohemian misfits did. 

Still, as far as this woman was concerned, he ate, dreamt, shat, and slept theatre. 

“So you have ideas for a play, then?” Castiel asked, and he enjoyed her real voice. It was rougher, and a bit raspy. It lacked the airly, flighty quality from her show, and the drawling, seductive drag from only moments ago. “And these ideas come from dreams?”

“Yes. It sounds a bit strange, I guess. But that’s where the best stories come from. Anyway, I was thinking it could follow themes of romance, and love, and freedom.”

“Freedom?” 

“Yes,” Dean gestured to her. “Freedom, choice. Sound good so far?”

Her earrings swung a bit as she nodded at him. “I trust that you would know better about what makes successful theatre than me, but I imagine most people would enjoy a show about love and freedom and fantasy.”

Now that she wasn’t overtly trying to fuck him, Dean approached her and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. She stared at him and he stared back, momentarily forgetting what he was saying, feeling overwhelmed under her intense gaze.

“I’ve come up with lots of stories in the past,” he explained, eyes searching her face. “They’re typically about the supernatural, ghosts, and monsters. Any twit can dream up a love story about dukes and duchesses, but to bring life to a love story in the midst of war and magic, that’s real entertainment.”

Blue eyes stared at him and he didn’t quite understand the nonplussed look in her eye, but Dean powered through anyway. “I’ve had these recurring dream since I was a boy about this war between Heaven and Hell, and there’s this angel in a trench coat who falls in love with a man that they were sent to save from Hell. The rest of the details are fuzzy, but the premise always struck me. I’ve been meaning to put it to paper for a while, but I’ve never been able to flesh out the angel. They alluded me.”

Castiel scratched at her temple and shrugged, before her hand fell into her lap. “And what makes you want to bring it to life now?”

 _Because I’m desperate for an idea,_ Dean thought to himself. Instead, he smiled, staring at her. In a whisper, he leaned forward playfully and teased, “Now I know what the angel looks like.”

Castiel leaned forward too, her breath dancing over his lips. “Is that right? Have you found your muse?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, swallowing loudly. “She’s beautiful and cunning. She’s a warrior, a leader to her people, a strategist.”

Castiel pulled back a few inches and snorted. “A strategist? How did _I_ lead you to that conclusion?”

“Please,” Dean laughed with a small huff. “All of those poor bastards hand you cash with just one look from you. It’s not the feather boas or frills, or diamonds that attract that kind of attention.” Dean grinned when her eyes widened. “Anyone can shake their ass, but you’re strategic.”

“Well, I don’t know about that—”

Dean interrupted her, leaning in. Their fingers brushed in the space between them. “Don’t think I don’t know that you planted that boy there with the diamond necklace tonight, Castiel. You are cunning.”

He would be lying if he didn’t feel a little thrill of excitement when her mouth dropped open and she choked out in disbelief.

“My word,” she breathed, gazing at him. “You really are quite the businessman.”

 _What_? Dean thought abruptly. What the hell had Charlie said to Castiel? He’d have to probe a little bit more later, he’d have to ask her exactly what conversation she’d had with Castiel.

***

“Oh no,” Charlie and Sam breathed at each other, eyes wide.

Kevin buried his face in his hands, shaking his head while Ash puffed on his cigarette. Ash snorted. “We’re boned, dudes.”

“She thinks he’s the Duke,” Sam whispered, running his hand over his face. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Him?” Charlie whispered frantically. “ _She’s_ gonna kill _us_. She’s gonna kill us after she kills _him.”_

***

“Your story concept,” she whispered, leaning close again, their shoulders brushing, “it’s fantastic.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Dean whispered, no longer able to back up or lean away, not when she had essentially expressed interest in the play idea. It’s all he’d promised Charlie. Castiel seemed to be in with the story, and frankly, she seemed to have returned to the idea of having sex and Dean wasn’t about to deny the girl what she wanted if she was going to convince Balthazar and the investor to go through with his story.

In the next few moments—it couldn’t be helped—Dean forgot all about Charlie and the play and the investment. He forgot about everything when Castiel leaned in and finally kissed him. Or did he kiss her? Regardless, their faces met, their lips locked, and Dean was consumed with _her_. She smelled like cinnamon and lemons, her soft perfume wafting all around them. Their hands, gripping the edge of the bed between them, brushed and their pinky fingers curled around each others shyly. 

Her soft lashes tickled his cheekbone as they kissed, their faces moving in tandem, softly, their tongues brushing and lips slipping against each other. Dean realised he had forgotten to breathe when she slipped a hand around his neck and locked him into their kiss. His breath hitched against her lips and she sighed against him in return. 

He sat paralyzed on the edge of the bed, while she lifted herself off of it, turning without breaking their kiss. Before he knew what was happening, Castiel had slid onto his lap, her thighs on either of his legs. Automatically, his shaky hands came up to her waist to hold her in place. Her hands pushed him down onto the bed, her hand on the back of his head as she gently laid him back and broke their kiss. 

Dean’s eyes slid open and he beheld her beauty; the bright blue eyes that were suddenly soft, and rosy lips that she bit into softly with her white teeth. A lump formed in his throat as she reached up gently and slid the beige robe off her shoulders to tumble around her legs in a puddle of shining silk. She was left sitting on his lap in just the blue teddy, one strap hanging precariously off her shoulder.

“Oh, God,” Dean whispered, suddenly completely aware he was in over his head. He was here to pitch a story, not have sex with Castiel. Damn, Charlie! Charlie had assured him he wouldn’t have the opportunity to sleep with Castiel, that the famed Angel of Thursday wouldn’t give him something for free that she charged others for… 

What if she was going to try to charge him after this?

“Not God,” she whispered, reaching forward, dragging her hand over his jawline. Her fingers brushed down his neck and chest like a whisper. She paused over his heart, then slowly began unbuttoned his shirt. “Just an angel.”

And that was it. Dean found his stomach squeeze and his heartbeat against his chest. If they expected him to not fall in love (or lust) with this perfect specimen of woman, Charlie and Ash were fucking idiots.

Castiel sat on his lap, and he begged and prayed to God that she didn’t feel the erection sitting snugly against the crevice of her thigh and, well…

Nope, she definitely felt it because Castiel rolled her hips a bit. Maybe it was an accident, but probably not, Dean thought with a groan that he bit back. The challenging glint in her eye as she tilted her head at him indicated that she knew exactly what she was doing.

She held out her hand in the air and Dean reached up automatically, linking their fingers together. “Charlie was right. We really are hoping to put on a production here in Heaven,” she said quietly, shrugging. “With your fantastic ideas and support, we could do it. We could make something magical.”

Oh, no, wait. They were still talking about the play. Dean cleared his throat and willed some blood to filter back into his brain. Shrugging against the bed, he choked out, “Yeah. Yes. I’d love to write this play and bring it to life.”

Castiel blinked, looking puzzled. “You…you want to actually _write-_ write for the play? I thought you merely had a concept, a-a backstory...” She laughed a bit, genuinely looking like she was struggling to keep a straight face. ”My goodness, what kind of duke are you?”

“Duke?” Dean frowned. “I’m not a duke, I’m a writer.”

What followed was the most awkward silence Dean had ever partaken in. Castiel’s smile very slowly faded from her lips and their joined hands turned into a painful squeezing that Dean really wished would end because that was his favourite hand.

“A writer.”

Dean swallowed nervously. “Yes.”

Castiel’s voice, the beautiful soft rasp, turned into a growl that had Dean freezing in his spot, terrified. “A writer?”

“Yes, Charlie said—”

Castiel shot up in shock, jerking her hand back. Her eyes went wide as she backed up off the bed and stood by her nightstand. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth dropped open before she snarled, “You’re THAT WRITER?!”

***

Ash put out his cigarette against the iron railing and sighed. “We’re all dead.”

“We’re gonna die,” Kevin murmured dryly, propping his head in his hand.

“We gotta go in there and do something,” Sam whispered furiously to Charlie, pointing his finger at her. “Dean’s drowning in there.”

“We can’t just barge in!” Charlie snapped back, red hair looking wild as she spun on Sam.

“You got him into this mess,” Sam hissed. “And you’re getting him out of it!”

***

Dean sat up, thoroughly confused. He threw his hands up and shrugged. “Charlie said—”

Castiel shoved her hand under the plethora of fluffy pillows on the bed and she pulled out a long, silver blade. Before Dean knew what was happening, the tip of the weapon was pointed at his chest. 

“Get out.”

“What? Castiel, I—”

“Get out before I bury this into your chest. _Writer_. What a waste of my time!” she exclaimed, flailing the blade. “I’m going to _murder_ Charlie. This all makes so much sense! All of your absolutely nonsensical babbling make sense now!”

Dena gaped like a fish but didn’t waste any time crawling backward off the bed and stumbling onto the floor. Castiel followed, her teeth bared, the blade still looking sufficiently stabby. “You run along and tell Charlie that I am going to throw her off the Brooklyn Bridge—” Dean’s eyes glanced over Castiel’s shoulder to see Charlie and Sam shuffle onto the balcony, making cutting gestures at their throats. “—I told her I didn’t have time to meet with her half-wit, head-in-the-clouds bohemian _twits!_ Some of us have work to do to keep this place afloat—”

Dean struggled with words to say. All he could think of were variations of “oh, God, I’m so sorry”, “please don’t stab me”, and “this is all Charlie’s fault”. There was also, “You are so hot when you’re angry” but again, he didn’t want to get stabbed so he bit back all the remarks and just stumbled backward toward the door with his hands up.

“Get OUT!” Castiel barked.

“Right, yeah. Sorry, I’ll—” was all he managed to say, turning towards the door, but then there were three sharp raps on it from the other side.

Castiel and Dean froze. They exchanged wide-eyed looks, then in tandem, they whispered, “The Duke.”

“Hide!” Castiel whispered roughly, gripping him by the shoulder and dragging him back to the bed.

Dean threw himself down beside the bed just in time for the door to swing open. He saw Sam and Charlie dive back into hiding, out of sight.

“Castiel, my love!” Balthazar cried out charmingly. Peering under the bed, Dean watched his shoes enter, followed by another pair of shining men’s loafers. “Glad to see you are dressed appropriately. My dear, may I introduce you to our visitor, Duke Zachariah Van Angelis?”

“Oh, my pleasure,” Castiel said. He watched her glittering heels cross the room, stopping in front of the Duke. Dean noticed her soft, delicate voice was back. He rolled his eyes, knowing now how her actual voice sounded. 

It was hot. Angry, but so hot.

“My little seraph, I’ll leave you and our Duke alone to get acquainted!” Balthazar exclaimed, and Dean watched his feet do a little spin before he strode away, closing the door behind him.

 _Shit,_ he groaned internally. He needed to get out of this room before he’d be stuck listening to Castiel bang the Duke on the bed not even a foot away. Who knew how long they’d take? Who knew what kind of freaky stuff this other man would be into? It could get messy and Dean wasn’t about to wait around to get splashed on.

“My Duke, I am so pleased to meet you. Balthazar has told me great things,” Castiel said smoothly. 

“Likewise, Ms. Grace,” the man returned. Dean thought he sounded kind of nasally, but then again he thought that most lords and Duke-types had that sound to them. “I must say, you look even better up close than on that stage. Though your performance tonight was enchanting nevertheless.”

“Thank you, my Duke.”

“Please, call me Zachariah. Only my servants call me ‘Duke’.”

 _Please call me Zacha-blah-blah-blah,_ Dean mocked in his head, rolling his eyes. _What a pompous prick, I bet— Oh, shit._

Dean panicked as he saw Zachariah’s feet walk around Castiel and deeper into the room, where he’d soon no doubt spot him. Kicking into action, Dean shuffled against the floor, trying to slide under the bed as silently as he could.

Castiel’s high heels clicked more assertively across the floor, her lightness of foot forgotten for a moment as she pursued the Duke, clearly deducing the same thing as Dean had. 

“Duke!” she yelped, following him. “S-Stay over here, I…have something to show you.”

Dean froze, half under the bed, and half exposed. He winced, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. Slowly, he propped himself up onto his elbows and looked over his shoulder. Castiel had the Duke turned away, twisting his torso towards her with one hand on his arm, awkwardly smiling and twisting her hair around her finger.

“I beg your pardon?” Zachariah asked coolly, his charming demeanor slipping a bit as he eyed her hand on his arm. “You have something to show me?”

Castiel glanced down at Dean, then quickly flickered her gaze back to Zachariah’s face. “Yes, I…”

Dean began to shuffle under the bed, towards the other side, hoping to make it in one piece and escape out the door.

“...I, um, wanted to show you, um, some of my things. Come look at this painting that I have.”

“A painting?” Dean could hear the sneer in Zachariah’s voice.

“Yes, this painting over here on the far side of the room. On the _far, far side of the room_.”

As Dean slid out the other side of the bed, he slowly rose to his feet. He stared at Castiel, standing in front of a painting with the Duke, one of her arms around his shoulders. Dean saw her glance at him with daggers in her eyes and her finger on the Duke’s shoulder pointed at the door. Dean rolled his eye at her, and grabbed onto the bed for support.

The blade that Castiel nearly stabbed Dean with rolled off the duvet and onto the floor with a loud clatter.

Dean threw himself to the floor just as the Duke started to spin around. 

“What was that?” the Duke snapped.

Dean watched the Duke’s feet turn toward the bed and take a few steps. Castiel's feet walked hurriedly beside him, then hopped so that she was standing in front of him.

“It’s…a prop,” Castiel supplied simply.

“A prop?” the Duke sneered.

“A prop,” she repeated. “For the play.”

“What play?”

“Didn’t Balthazar tell you?” Castiel asked, her voice wavering. “The play we’re going to put on here at the club.”

“Yes, he mentioned something about a play,” the Duke said slowly, and Dean could clearly imagine the man narrowing his eyes at Castiel. His voice carried a distinct tone of suspicion. 

“We were hoping,” Castiel admitted, and her voice took on that smooth, sultry tone that she’d used on Dean earlier. “That we could count on your support to move the production forward. You see, the entire thing is very elaborate and expens—”

“Do you smell cigarettes?” the Duke interrupted.

Castiel forgot to sound sexy when she blurted out, “What?”

The Duke turned and headed towards the balcony. Dean jumped up, peeking over the edge of the bed. Castiel spun around to face him and with a face twisted in anger, she mouthed, “GET. OUT. HE’LL _KILL_ YOU!” and pointed a finger gun at her temple.

“FINE!” Dean mouthed back, rolling his eyes. He rose to his feet silently and crept towards the door, his head turned to watch Castiel pursue the Duke, who walking slowly out to the balcony, sniffing the air suspiciously.

“Do you smoke cigarettes, Castiel? Because I must say, the smell of cigarettes on a woman is off-putting and highly unattractive,” the Duke commented snidely. Dean did a double-take over his shoulder, unable to believe how much of an asshole this man was.

Castiel looked over her shoulder at Dean and pointed aggressively at the door before she slid up behind the Duke, took him by the hand, and tugged him towards the balcony. 

“No, of course not, my Duke. I-I don’t smell anything. Come enjoy the view and enjoy some fresh air with me.”

As soon as Dean put his hand on the doorknob, he realised with a shock down his spine that his brother and their new friends were probably still all huddled up just outside the doors on the terrace. He had to save them from discovery or they would all be punished for ruining the chance for investment. Hell, he and Sam might even be arrested for trespassing. 

Dean spun on his heel and ducked behind an elegant looking dressing screen. He panicked for a split second on what to do, but then he kicked out, knocking over a vase atop a decorative table with his foot. Dean expected it to smash into a million different pieces, but the stupid thing just landed on the floor with a dull _clunk_.

While it lacked dramatics, the distraction worked. As soon as the vase hit the ground, he heard the Duke growl, “What was that? What is going on here?”

“It’s the wind,” Castiel replied awkwardly, though Dean heard the uncertainty in her voice. Her footsteps clicked towards the dressing screen and Dean feared he would end up with a stiletto heel stabbed through his eye. “Here, Duke, why don’t you sit on the bed and make yourself comfortable? I’ll just pick that up quickly and then we can discuss—”

“I think I’ll just go,” the Duke said, his voice clipped. Dean un-crouched just a bit, peering through the grating at the top of the screen. 

He realised with a jolt that the Duke was striding right towards him, and if the Duke were to head to the door and turn around for some reason, he’d find Dean hiding and the plan would be toast.

Dean felt a small pang of guilt as Castiel stared after the Duke, looking desperately hopeless and panicked for a second. But the expression was gone from her face quickly and the girl swiftly pursued the Duke.

“This _meeting_ isn’t exactly how I imagined it would be, Ms. Grace,” the Duke taunted, his voice unimpressed. He outstretched his hand towards his coat which hung off a hook behind the door. “I’ll be having a word with Balthazar and then I think I’ll leave town, _mpppfh_ —”

Dean pressed a hand to his mouth in shock at the girl’s gall as she grabbed the Duke by his hand and yanked him around, pressing her body against him, dragging her nails down the back of his balding head as she kissed him deeply. Dean thought it was an aggressive amount of tongue, but hey, he wasn’t going to judge her. A distraction was a distraction.

The Duke forgot all about his hasty exit and moaned while he kissed her back, hand dragging up her thigh as she lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist. Castiel’s eyes remained open as she kissed the gross Duke and her hand behind his head gesture wildly to the door, basically telling Dean with one look to get out or she’d kill him and everyone he ever loved.

As the Duke grunted and slipped his hand under her skirt, his lips mouthing their way down Castiel’s throat, Dean tiptoed behind them, holding his breath because he was so close and if he breathed wrong, they might hear him. 

He grabbed the door knob and turned it agonizingly slowly, wincing as he did so, hoping and praying that his exit could be silent. Once he’d turned as far as he could, he spared one last glance back at Castiel, who mouthed irately, “Go!” and then faked a groan of pleasure while she glared at Dean.

Dean opened the door and began to step out, only to realise that he was about to run headlong into the back of some kind of security guard. In silent panic, he stepped back into the room and closed the door.

Accidentally, he breathed, “ _Oh, shit._ ”

The Duke’s head snapped up, Dean and Castiel stared wide-eyed at each other, and Dean thought off-handedly that he may have gotten himself into somewhat of a pickle.

“What is—” Zachariah was cut off mid-sentence when Castiel cupped his cock the way she’d cupped Dean’s only minutes earlier. 

“I can’t control myself around you,” Castiel breathed, her other hand sliding down the Duke’s face. “I’ve been thinking about you since I saw you in the crowd tonight. Forgive me for acting strangely earlier, Duke, but...but you just make me so nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” Zachariah repeated, and Dean almost rolled his eyes at the flattered tone in the pompous asshole’s voice.

Castiel’s eyelashes fluttered and she nodded. “Yes. Balthazar told me you were handsome, but I wasn’t prepared for this raw, rugged, animal magnetism. Don’t you feel it, Duke?”

“Of course,” the Duke replied, his voice rough. “I cannot deny there is certainly a spark between us. I was hoping to explore that a bit more tonight, actually…”

“Oh, _yes._ Yes, yes, yes...” Castiel agreed, her fingers trailing softly over the Duke’s earlobe. “We can explore anything you want tonight, Duke. We can explore for as long as you want, wherever and however you want. I am yours, surely you must know.”

“That sounds incredible,” the Duke growled, his meaty paws sliding up Castiel’s hips, his grip tightening on her waist.

“And then perhaps afterward I can tell you about our play?” Castiel added lightly, brows jumping up a bit. Dean saw her hand working, her shoulder moving up and down a bit. As the Duke choked out a hoarse groan, Dean could only imagine what persuasive techniques she was pumping out.

“Y-Yes,” the Duke breathed. “Of course, the play. Yes.”

Castiel’s free hand slipped down off of the Duke’s face and she took his hand, guiding it onto her breast, squeezing his fingers, urging them to massage the handful. She moaned, eyes dragging across the Duke’s face before her eyes flickered over to Dean.

Dean scowled at her and crossed his arms across his chest. Unimpressed at the sex show taking place not two feet away, he narrowed his eyes at her and mouthed, “ _Really?_ ”

Castiel’s gaze flickered back to the Duke’s face and her hand moved a bit quicker. “It would mean the world to me if you could support our production. Your financial aid would really bring the story to life. And of course, it would mean you and I could spend more time together.”

“I love...our...time together,” the Duke breathed distractedly, and Dean seriously doubted that the man even knew what he was saying, with his hand on Castiel’s tit and her hand working magic over his cock.

Dean grimaced as Castiel brought her lips to the Duke’s earlobe and her tongue swiped out to lick it. 

“You remind me of the main character,” she breathed, quickly glancing at Dean, her mouth on the Duke’s skin. “He’s handsome and righteous. He’s the hero who captures the heart of our leading lady.”

“You don’t say,” Zachariah mumbled, his forehead pressing against Castiel’s. “He captures her heart…What...What a story...”

“Yes,” she mused, eyes still on Dean, who flapped his arms at his side like he was taking off in flight. Castiel narrowed her eyes, but caught his drift. “She’s an angel, you see.”

Dean made an X over his heart and pouted.

Castiel rolled her eyes, but said, “She’s can’t fall in love with anyone—”

Castiel licked her lips, her eyes steady on Dean now while her hand toyed with the Duke, her ministrations faster. Dean held up a finger, then swept two fingers in the air in the shape of a heart.

“—but against all odds they fall in love, her and the righteous man.”

Dean watched with a grimace as Zachariah’s head tilted back a bit and he released a long groan. 

“This s-story is so good. Umph, it’s so good…”

“Yeah?” Castiel breathed against his neck, glancing up at the duke’s face. “You like that story? I’ve got more where that came from, big boy.”

Dean had no idea where she was going to get more because he was fresh out of plotlines. He ran his hands over his face and let them slide off. Irritated now, just wanting to get out of here, Dean waved his hands, trying to gesture to her that he had nothing left to offer. 

But because he seemed _physically incapable_ of not knocking things over tonight, Dean found one of his flailing hands make painful acquaintance with the edge of a painting frame. He inhaled sharply. “Motherfu—” 

It all happened so quickly. The Duke’s snapped his head up, Castiel’s eyes went wide and fearful, and Dean pressed himself back against the wall _as if that was going to help._ The Duke began to turn around, but Castiel yanked herself away from him and released a frustrated sound that was a mix of a scream and a scoff.

“How dare you?!” she cried, turning on the Duke. 

“I beg your… What?” the Duke asked, frozen to the spot with shoulders in a tight line. 

Dean started at Castiel over the Duke’s shoulder, mortified that he’d almost gotten caught and also equally, if not more, confused than the Duke. 

“How _dare_ you come in here with that fire in you?” Castiel snarled, snatching up her beige robe from the bed and jerking it over her arms. “I thought I wanted you before, but _now_ , oh now that I’ve felt your big, heavy manhood in my hand, I want you so much more.”

“Well, that’s not a problem—”

Castiel paced, her hands in her hair. “I just want to rip my clothes off and pleasure myself here in front of you. Just the thought of you inside me drives me mad.”

“My dear girl, I can help you satisfy that yearning—

“No! It’s simply too much,” she breathed, her chest heaving as her fingers tangled in her waves. “It makes me feel dirty, naughty, corrupt.”

Dean wondered if the Duke was gaping dumbly at her like he was. It took conscious effort to close his mouth.

To his credit, the Duke stepped forward and shrugged, suggesting, “Ms. Grace—”

“—Castiel.”

“—Castiel,” the Duke repeated. “There is no need to feel shame. Perhaps we were meant to come together like this—”

“Oh, you devilish man!” Castiel replied, looking aghast. “We can’t. This is simply too much. I-I would like to get to know you first. You’re different than the rest. I wish to know your soul before I know your body. It’s only right.”

Poor big idiot, Dean thought. For a second, he felt bad for the Duke and his sad penis. Then he remembered he should be hiding, that the girl was trying to distract the Duke to buy him some time. Dean crept over to a curtain and slid behind it.

“You must go!” Castiel said breathlessly, and he heard her heels move across the room quickly. “Go speak to Balthazar. Discuss the investment in our play. I wish to see our love story get the audience it deserves—”

Dean felt momentarily offended that his story had somehow been twisted into reality where Zachariah was the hero. _As if._

“—And then, on opening night, you and I shall consummate that fire between us, Duke.”

“Why not now?”

“ _Oh,_ if I had you now, I wouldn’t be able to focus on the play, love! A fiery love affair is certainly a distraction,” she gasped, sounding out of breath. “Let us wait. If we wait, it will be that much better. And for now, we can see each other after rehearsals. Get to know each other, you know?”

“I...suppose.”

There was a sound of the door opening, and the wet, slick sounds of kissing and lips smacking together. Dean’s stomach turned.

Then, the door closed.

There was a heavy silence where he waited a moment, expecting to be stabbed through the curtain, but when certain death didn’t come, he peered out from behind thick fabric. 

Castiel stood with one hand on the door, the other pressed against her temple, her eyes squeezed shut. She was breathing heavily.

For the second time since he’d seen her, Dean’s brow furrowed in concern. Something seemed off. He stepped out from behind the curtain and cautiously made his way towards her.

“Hey, are you alright?”

He jumped a bit when she spun to face him, the silk robe fluttering at her side as she panted and her shoulders heaved. “You...almost...ruined everything! T-There’s a plan here and you nearly ruined it!”

Fuck proprietary and professionalism. Charlie could eat it.

Castiel stopped in her tracks, gripping at her head and grimacing. Dean walked forward with purpose and took Castiel by the elbow, maneuvering her towards the bed, where he helped her sit down on the edge. 

“What’s wrong?” he demanded firmly. “How can I help?

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she whispered as her fingers dug into her temples. “My head…. It... I’m fine. It will pass, so leave me alone.”

“What can I do for you?” he murmured quietly, kneeling between her legs, watching her face carefully.

“Nothing. Go away,” she breathed, her lips draining of colour.

With a nervous swallow, Dean reached up and gently pulled her hands away from her face, causing her to open her eyes and wince. Her eyes were accusing, but too full of pain. Summoning up more courage, Dean began kneading her temples with the meaty part of his palm and dragging his thumbs over her brow.

“Does that feel okay?” His eyes searched her face, looking for anger but finding it fading, leaving behind pain and bit of confusion.

“Yes…” she replied slowly, licking her lips.

Surprised that she answered him with no anger and pleased to see the fists in her lap relax, he quickly explained, “My mother used to have these terrible headaches when I was younger. She...was really sick.” Dean took a deep breath. “Anyway, I used to do this for her and she said it helped…then again, I was seven and she probably just said that to not hurt my feelings.”

“She wasn’t lying. It does feels soothing,” she croaked, swallowing thickly. She looked hesitant and guarded. “Why are you doing this? I won’t sleep with you, you know.”

Dean snorted. “Will you buy it that I just like helping people?”

“No one gives anything away for free.” 

Dean grinned at her, flashing her his toothy smile. “An ex taught me that orgasms also help, you know.” 

“I knew it.” Castiel scowled. Then again, she said, “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting you sleep with me,” Dean teased. “I was only going to suggest that you should have let the Duke have at you with that big, heavy manhood of his.” 

“You’re a pig,” Castiel replied faintly, lashes fluttering. Dean noticed a pallor to her skin that hadn’t been there seconds earlier. 

“Yes, I am disgusting. How did you know?" Dean asked jokingly. “Have you been in communication with my exes?”

His heart fluttered a bit as his joke landed and the girl breathed a weak laugh, low and raspy, like she wasn’t used to her real laugh. “You almost ruined everything with the Duke,” she said, eyes sliding open again, fixing him with an accusing look. 

Dean shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was coming and I thought Charlie had told you who I was. I thought you’d been expecting me. Honest.”

“I’ll have to kill you both when I’m finished melting under your fingers,” Castiel pointed out, humming with pleasure as he kneaded his thumbs over her forehead and dragged one down the bridge of her nose, pressing down against her sinuses and then over her jawline. 

“That’s fine,” Dean chuckled. “If you stabbing me is as much penetration as you’re willing to have with me, that would be okay.”

Castiel’s lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. “Does your mother know she raised such an awful young man?”

Dean’s face fell for a moment, then he pressed a tight smile onto his lips, hands resuming their massage after pausing briefly.

“My mother is dead.”

Most people would’ve been embarrassed or would have backpedaled. To his surprise, Castiel shrugged and offered, “Mothers are useless anyway.”

“Here I was thinking hookers had daddy issues, not mommy issues.”

“I have those too,” Castiel replied, reaching up to pull his hands away from her head.

Dean’s hands fell loosely in his lap as he gazed up at her. “Chip on your shoulder?”

“A gaping crack,” she replied dryly. “Mine left. Both parents. I never knew them.”

They stared at each other.

“Well,” he replied quietly, “they were stupid, then.”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, a bit of colour returning to her face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You… You nearly ruined everything, and I don’t know you. Now get out.”

Dean realised he was effectively trapping her to the bed as he kneeled in between her legs.

“Oh, right,” he said, getting to his feet. “Well, I hope you feel better.”

Dean tried to catch her eye to smile politely, but she turned her face away, avoiding his eye, pursing her lips with annoyance. He put his hand on the bed to use the surface as leverage to get up—he was in his thirties, but his knees were in their sixties—however his hand pressed down on her silk robe and Dean found himself slipping forward.

“Oof!” His breath was punched out of him when he fell towards her, Castiel’s knee getting him right in the stomach and his face bumping against her chest. She yelped too, leaning away from him, and what ended up happening was a clumsy mess of limbs flailing.

Castiel was leaning back on her elbows with Dean half-on top of her, his face pretty much in her cleavage. It turned out to be the most opportune time for the Duke to swing the door open again. 

“Castiel, I have forgotten my…coat,” he trailed off, cold eyes jumping from Castiel’s drained, pale face and Dean’s wide-eyed, gaping one. The Duke’s hand slipped off the knob and balled at his side. His eyes narrowed at Castiel, even when she shoved Dean aside with an elbow.

“Of course, Duke! Let me get it for you—”

She struggled to her feet, kicking Dean hard in his old-man knees with her heel. Dean hissed and kneel-limped aside as she rose to her feet.

“Do I look stupid, Ms. Grace?” Zachariah hissed, his eyes flashing. He pointed a finger at Dean, who staggered to his feet, looking petrified. Castiel stopped in her tracks. Dean, despite being terrified of the Duke, edged closer to her as she seemed to sway a bit, ready to catch her if she passed out.

Zachariah didn’t notice, or perhaps he took her frail state as a signal to be more vindictive, because the Duke stepped towards her, eyes narrowed. “Do I look like the type of man to be toyed with? _Especially_ by a glorified whore?”

“My Duke, love, please let me explain—”

“Silence!” Zachariah spat, the finger pointed at her curling. Dean didn’t know if he liked the way the Duke was advancing on Castiel, his eyes growing darker. “You ‘want me’? You want to know my ‘soul’ before you know my ‘body’, do you? What about this man’s body? Of all the cons and deceptions, I—”

“My soul’s not that great,” Dean added with a huff of laughter, his shoulders shrugging. “And trust me, my body is only marginally better—”

Castiel’s head turned with a jerk, her eyes wide with disbelief. Dean shrunk back a bit, understand that he was one stupid joke away from being impaled on that long silver blade of hers. She turned back to the Duke and pointed back at Dean. “Duke, please. This is our new writer. He’s writing the play I was telling you about.”

Dean was shocked that Castiel didn’t drop dead from the murderous look Zachariah was fixing her with. “Is that supposed to make you less of a tramp?” Zachariah hissed.

 _What the fuck is this guy’s problem?_ Dean thought angrily as he stepped forward, ready to come to the girl’s defence, when Castiel stopped him yet again from making a dumb decision.

“No, my dear Duke, you misunderstand,” she replied smoothly, resting her hand on Zachariah's arm. She turned to Dean with an elegant sweep of her hand. “After we spoke, I was inspired to host a rehearsal. So I called, um—” (As her eyes flickered at him, it occurred to Dean that she didn’t know his name) “—our talented new writer up to my quarters to go over some details.”

“My dear girl, unless the scripted was wedged firmly between your breasts, I doubt this very much,” the Duke groused, leaning away from her touch. “I think you and your writer are full of sh—”

Dean, Castiel, and the Duke all jumped a foot in the air when Sam strode into the room with Charlie, Ash, and Kevin in tow.

“I’m so sorry I’m late for rehearsal!” Sam laughed, tugging at his suit jacket as he swept down the stairs, and running his hands through his hair. “I was gathering the troops. Have you started without us?”

Castiel and Dean exchanged wide-eyed looks. Castiel looked more shocked than Dean, who at least had the advantage of knowing that the bohemian misfits and his brother had been lurking outside. Despite her alarm, Dean gave her credit for rolling with the punches.

“Yes,” she said slowly, her eyes darting to each person in the sudden crowd of people in her service quarters. “We...started without you.”

Charlie tugged a blue scarf from around her neck and skipped up beside Castiel, twirling it around her neck. “Oh, yes! Looks perfect. You know, I was thinking your character should have a pop of blue in her costume.” She leaned towards the Duke, who leaned away, looking perplexed. “Don't you think so, sir? Blue like her eyes. I just think it adds a nice touch.”

“Should we take it from the top, then?” Kevin proposed, dropping down onto Castiel’s bed and shrugging.

“The top?” Sam, Castiel, and Dean asked dumbly.

Ash piped in finally, from his lazy lean against Castiel’s vanity. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air and waved his cigarette around. “Maybe we should have a pow-wow first and settle some details. Boring details. Boring details that no one would ever, ever want to stick around for.”

“Absolutely,” Castiel nodded, turning back to the Duke, her hand pressed to his chest again. “I think we should be getting back to rehearsal. Duke, shall I get your coat?”

She moved to grab his coat from over his shoulder, but Zachariah’s hand snapped out and wrapped around her wrist. He shook his head, then eyed her and Dean suspiciously. “I think I should like to stay,” he said silkily. “I’m very curious as to which scene you and your writer were rehearsing when I re-entered the room.”

“Oh, uh,” Dean answered. “Well, you see, that scene—”

“—needed work,” Castiel cut in, smiling up at the Duke. “Originally, the scene was very innocent and playful, but after my encounter with you, dear Duke, I was _inspired,_ and I thought we should write in something more sexual and animalistic—” she ran her hand down his chest, nails dragging over the fabric, and her eyes flickered up to his face. “—and _erotic._ ”

Dean watched as the Duke’s tongue dragged over his lips as he fucked her with his eyes. Interrupting their eyefuck session, Dean blurted out, “Yeah, we were just blocking out the movements.”

The door very nearly knocked Zachariah onto his ass when it swung open again. Balthazar stepped into the room, his eyes wide as they paused on each confused face.

“My dear Duke, I am wretchedly sorry! I happened to glance out my window and _accidentally_ saw into Castiel’s room. I feel compelled to apologize for this cruel intrusion by all these nosy people—”

Castiel’s laugh—which Dean now recognized as fake—rung out and she waved a hand at Balthazar. “Balthazar, there is no need to pretend anymore. Our dear Duke has met the creative team and the _new writer_ ,” she emphasized, pointing at Dean with a dainty sweep of her hand. “He’s very keen to _invest_ in our new, never-before-seen play written by, um—”

“Dean,” Dean said, stepping forward after finding his feet. He grabbed the Duke’s hand, though he hated to touch someone so vile. Shaking it stiffly, he added, “Winchester. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Castiel turned to face Balthazar, her long brown curls bouncing over her shoulder. She clapped a hand over his bicep and gripped tightly before turning her face to Zachariah and explained in a rush, “Anyway, my duke, we’ve come together to fine-tune the story and I’d so hate to spoil it for you, to have you see us rehearse here in this silly little room. I’d much rather you saw us rehearse on the main stage, with proper costumes, and music, and props. You’ll enjoy it much more when the scene has been re-written—”

Zachariah fixed Castiel with a sour look, eyes flickering down her state of half-undress. 

Castiel pulled her robe over her shoulder, clearing her throat and glancing at Dean with a rush of colour high on her cheekbones.

“What,” Zachariah asked snidely, “is the story, at least?”

Balthazar, poor bugger, still looked completely lost. He glanced between the Duke, who was waiting impatiently, and Castiel whose lips were opening and closing wordlessly.

“The story... I’m sorry, _what?”_ Balthazar bumbled, blinking and leaning towards the duke in confusion. 

“The _story._ ” Castiel’s fingernails dug into Balthazar’s shoulders, making him jump. “The one, um,” she paused to gesture flightily at Dean, “that _Dean’s_ written.”

“Yes,” Charlie said quickly, her chest stuttering as she laughed nervously. “He’s the new staff writer for Heaven. The lucky chosen one!”

As Charlie’s composure crumbled under Zachariah’s cool gaze and her anxious chortling faded, Sam continued the lie for her. “He’s come up with a whole plot and story arc for Heaven’s first large scale production.”

“I have?” Dean whispered, forgetting their ruse for a moment.

“He sure has!” Sam said loudly, speaking over Dean and clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s going to be quite spectacular.”

“It’s gonna be _great_ ,” Kevin piped in, stepping forward. “It’s going to make you _so much money,_ uh, Duke. Sir.”

“Right… _Dean_ ,” Balthazar nodded, the gears turning in his mind. “Dean the writer… _not_ Metatron the writer. Should we perhaps get Metatron on board since he is—was—is our staff writer?”

“Oh, you’re funny, Balthazar,” Kevin said, clearing his throat again as his voice cracked. “How, uh, how is Metatron supposed to write the story from a train on the way to Canada?”

“TO CANADA?” Balthazar cried out in shock, before he turned swiftly to the Duke and slid an arm around his shoulder. “To _Canada_. Of course, of course. Off to America’s top hat, as I always say! To spend time with his…dead mother.”

“To spend time with his _dead_ mother?” Dean and Sam asked at the same time, wearing twin expressions of disgust and confusion.

“He’s very spiritual,” Balthazar said quickly over his shoulder before he turned back to the duke, patting him on the chest and chuckling. “Listen, Zachariah, perhaps we should speak in private. I can tell you all about our capabilities and talent here at Heaven, and you can sign the paperwork _this very night_! I—”

Zachariah shrugged him off and threw his hands up, curling them into crunchy little fists at his waist. He was starting to turn a bit red. Dean worried his ugly little bald head might pop off.

“I am not signing a damn thing until I know the story! How am I to invest if there is no story?”

“Oh, right! Invest. Of course, investing,” Balthazar agreed, wagging his finger in Zachariah’s face. 

Beside him, Castiel was looking more and more incredulous, her mouth parted as her big blue eyes jumped from the Duke to Balthazar. She only snapped her mouth closed when they both turned to her and Balthazar turned the wagging finger her way. “The Duke wants to invest in the story. Castiel? The story?”

The big blue eyes blinked several times and she said, “Uh… um…” She swallowed, eyes swiveling towards Dean. “Oh, Dean is much better at explaining it than I.”

Everyone turned to Dean, whose mouth was a little o-shape. 

“Oh, uh, the story is about…”

Sam, the most amazing little brother an idiot could ask for, patted Dean on the shoulder and stepped a bit towards the Duke, smiling with every ounce of charisma he possessed. “It’s about ghosts and ghouls,” Sam supplied.

Dean nodded, pointing at his brother. “Yes! And...family.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up. “And angels.”

“Mhmn!” Sam agreed, pointing at her, before he struggled for another contribution. Dean’s eyes fell on a painting on the wall, a gold pentagram carved into the canvas. Sam must’ve seen the same thing because he exclaimed, “And Satan!”

“Oh, and of course, there’s sex,” Balthazar chuckled, reaching across the awkwardly too-big space between them, tugging Castiel to his side. He squeezed her and grinned. “So much sex, right, darling?”

“Of course,” Castiel said grumpily, unable to hide her disapproval for a moment, but then she caught the Duke’s eye and she asked, her tone sultry. “Do you like a lot of sex, dear Duke?”

Zachariah’s adam’s apple bobbed and his nasty bug eyes dragged down Castiel’s lithe form, still draped in revealing satin and lace, his lewd stare pausing at the glittering jewels embedded in the fabric around her breasts. 

“Yes. Lots of sex.”

Castiel winked at the Duke and Dean’s mouth went dry, disbelieving how she could continue the act after the names the Duke had called her.

“What else is it about?” Zachariah asked, less angry after his borderline-pornographic staring contest with Castiel’s chest. Well, at least he was less irritated and seemed genuinely interested in the story now that it involved sex.

“The apocalypse,” Castiel said.

Ash clapped her on the shoulder and grinned. “That’s genius! Uh, I mean, that was genius…when we conceived it definitely-not-tonight-or-just-now.”

“It’s about all of those things,” Dean interrupted, catching Castiel’s gaze after she tore it away from Zachariah. The Duke was too busy shaking his head at Ash, Sam, Charlie and Kevin. 

Castiel’s gaze was fixed on Dean and he found he couldn’t look away. 

“But above all else,” Dean said, eyes on her, “it’s about love.”

Everyone turned to look at him and asked in sync, “Love?”

“Yes, love. Between an angel and a man.”

Castiel’s stared at his face with a peculiar expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed.

“A man?” Zachariah sneered. “What man?”

“The righteous man,” Dean whispered dramatically to Castiel, whose gaze was unblinking, enraptured. Dean stepped away from his friends, aware that he’d become the center of attention. 

“It takes place…in Kansas,” Dean went on, racking his brain for details. He began pacing around as ideas came to him. “It begins with two brothers who hunt monsters and demons.”

Charlie and Kevin saddled up beside Dean, on either side, wriggling their fingers by their faces, doing terrible impersonations of creepy things that went bump in the night. 

“And one of the brothers goes to Hell because he sold his soul,” Sam pitched in, scratching at his temple, his breath coming out in a puff of laughter. Kevin stepped into the dramatization, grasping at his neck and choking, his eyes crossing as he tumbled to the floor. “He sold his soul to save his brother.”

“Yes, to save his brother, S...Shaun!” Dean agreed. “But the one brother, his name is…”

“Daniel,” Castiel said, her lips twitching.

“ _Daniel_ gets raised from Hell and that’s how our story begins,” Dean explained as Zachariah’s gaze began narrowing suspiciously again. 

“How does he simply get ‘raised from Hell’?” Zachariah asked.

Castiel stepped forward now, Balthazar’s arm slipping off her shoulder. Her eyes darted across Dean’s face. Softly, she said, “It was an angel. An angel rescued him from Hell.”

“She just,” Zachariah’s upper lip curled, “ _rescues him?_ How?”

Castiel blushed and shrugged, making a grabby hand with her fingers. “She…grips him.”

Kevin and Charlie made exasperated faces behind her back. 

“She grips him?” Zachariah asked, incredulous, echoing everyone else's thoughts.

Castiel looked panicked for a brief, fleeting moment, then she nodded and said more confidently, “Yes. She grips him tight and raises him from perdition.”

Well, that kind of sounded better.

Dean felt Charlie’s fingers pinch him and he was jerked back into reality, not realising he and Cas had been staring at each other for a beat too long. Dean blinked and grinned at the Duke. He swept an arm out. “The angel joins forces with the righteous man and his brother, who are… they’re…”

“Vessels!” Charlie coughed.

Sam pointed at himself. “Vessels for Lucifer,” and he pointed at his brother, “and Michael, the archangel.”

“What’re you pointing at me for?” Dean asked gruffly. “I’m not an actor—”

Ash patted at his chin and whispered, “It’s so biblical.”

“Right,” Balthazar gasped, stepping towards Dean, clapping him on the arm. “Riiight. And there’s supposed to be a battle between Lucifer and Michael, but the brothers are resistant. They’re resistant to the evil, corrupt host of Heaven who try to force them to play their roles. They just want to live, to be free.”

“And Daniel’s angel, Celeste, works for the leader of this corrupt garrison of angels, whose name is Zyon,” Castiel chimed in.

“And Zyon is a dick,” Dean said, with a bubble of amusement in his throat. “He treats her like a thing. He calls her names and tries to keep her in line with possessive behavior and veiled threats.”

There was an uncomfortable look that passed over Castiel’s face, her hand immediately moving down to rub at her wrist. Dean felt a pang of guilt for making her feel bad, it hadn’t been the intention. Rather, quite the opposite.

Sam snorted beside him and said more eloquently, “Zyon is powerful and influential. He’s domineering, wants everyone to play by the rules, to fulfill prophecy—”

Charlie piped in. “At first the angel is resistant to helping Daniel and Shaun, because she’s only ever known Heaven, she’s only ever known what it’s like to serve the armies of God.”

Dean exchanged looks with Charlie, then he nodded. “She and Daniel butt heads at first. She wants him to serve his purpose in this grand scheme, but he doesn’t understand why he has to do anything for Heaven, who hadn’t done anything for him in his life.”

“But over time,” Sam continued, “Daniel and Celeste fall in love, much to their own surprise. She teaches him to have some faith, while he teaches her to make her own choices, to form her own destiny, to stop talking orders—”

“—Orders from Zyon,” Dean interrupted. “As their love grows, she sees that humanity is more important, that it’s something worth fighting for. She’d watched humanity for eons, thinking she’d understood humans, but it turns out, she had a lot to learn.”

“She has doubts about who she is,” Castiel said slowly, shaking her head, her brown waves bouncing around her face. “She begins to question everything she’s ever known, she begins to feel emotions she didn’t think she knew how to. Forbidden things. Human things. Fear, passion, longing—”

“Lust!” Balthazar added. 

“Love,” Dean and Castiel said together. The angel of Thursday tore her eyes from Charlie, and looked over her shoulder at Dean, something strange roiling in the cobalt gaze. Dean’s palms felt hot and sweaty.

“Love?” Zachariah sneered. “Between an angel and a mere human? Does that make sense? Should she not want power? Something Zyon and Heaven could give her—”

The noises of dissent—and the pinched, disgusted face Charlie made—were enough to scold Zachariah into silence.

Dean cleared his throat and met Zachariah's steely gaze. “Celeste thinks that’s what she has to do. But Daniel, in the final hour, reminds her what’s important.” Dean stepped towards Zachariah, eyes unblinking. “Family, people. Love.”

“They create their own destiny, the angel picks free will. They turn away from destiny. They make it up as they go,” Castiel affirmed. 

Dean looked over and winked at her. While she didn’t smile back under Zachariah’s gaze, her eyes did spark up a bit. Everyone stood awkwardly, unsure of what else to add. Then Zachariah sniffed dryly and picked up his coat that he’d left behind. “What of the ending?” he asked, shrugging the coat on to his shoulders, his face unreadable.

“The ending?” Balthazar blinked. “The ending is…”

He looked around, and everyone stared blankly at him, clearly out of ideas. 

“...unfinished,” Dean murmured.

“We’re still working on it,” Sam shrugged.

“Hm.” The small noise from Zachariah’s throat had everyone exchanging fearful looks. The fear morphed into panic when the Duke spun on his heel and headed towards the door. “I’ll think about it.”

“Shit,” Charlie whispered. 

Castiel’s jaw clenched and she shoved through the crowd, sweeping up towards the Duke. His hand was on the door handle when she reached out and took his free hand. The Duke looked startled, turning around to survey her with confusion.

She intertwined their fingers and stepped into his space, pressing her chest against his, her other hand coming up and curling around Zachariah’s neck before kissing him deeply, moaning against his lips.

Dean’s jaw dropped and Sam made a very quiet _‘ugh’_ noise near his ear.

Castiel’s eyes remained open, staring at Zachariah’s face as he relaxed and kissed her back. She held the kiss for only a few moments before pulling away, flashing her teeth in a crooked little side-smile. “Don’t think about it for too long,” she whispered. “I would so hate to wait to see you again.”

Sam was right; _ugh._ Dean’s stomach turned.

Zachariah stared at Castiel, enraptured, much like Dean was, with her fierce eyes and face set in determination, her curls thrown back over her shoulders. He slowly raised his hand and wiped his lips with his wrist. “And this play, what is it called?” Zachariah asked breathlessly, his slightly wide eyes searching Castiel’s face.

Balthazar and Dean exchanged looks. “It’s… uh…”

Castiel licked her lips and then smiled again, tilting her chin up courageously.

“It’s called...” she said in her raspy, enchanting voice. “It’s called _‘Supernatural’_.”


	4. The Proposition

There was a party at the club to celebrate the birth of _‘Supernatural’_ and the Duke’s investment. Dean had no idea how everyone had found out about the deal, but apparently, news traveled fast in this place. As he, his brother, and their new friends spent the rest of the night at Heaven’s bar with Ellen and Jo, more and more angels kept coming up to ask about the news. Once the last call had been announced and the club’s activity died down, an angel named Hannah wandered up to Charlie and told her about a celebratory party. Dean watched in amusement as the angel personally invited Sam, flashing him a flirty smile before she fluttered away.

As soon as the last patron trickled out of the club, the staff collapsed into a collective state of celebration. Dumbfounded, Dean and Sam followed Charlie, Kevin, and Ash up a set of iron steps off the side of the main dance floor. The passageway led into a large side room with several round tables, a small bar, a music player, and two wide doors out into a vast stone balcony. 

Situated quickly at the bar, watching Ellen slide behind the counter and begin to mix cocktails, Dean watched as angels filed into the room over a period of fifteen minutes. They all chatting excitedly and were significantly dressed down than he’d previously seen them. It was amazing to watch the facade drop away. Erotic, sensual dancers and eccentric performers turned into giddy girls and boys, sultry smiles evaporating and leaving animated, beaming faces. 

Dean watched groups form here and there, and angels he’d seen dancing early around the dance floor were bopping up to the bar to gather drinks for their friends. The house mother, Jody, ran around with a little boy in her arms and a gaggle of a few children in varying ages tottering behind her.

“Rachel, I slaved for two hours the other day sewing missing rhinestones back onto your corset, you best go take that off before I officially see you leaning against the splinter-ridden bar!” The woman cried out at a tall muscular blonde woman, while she balanced a wiggly little boy on her hip, who was trying to escape back to his mother. “ _Jack, get back here, it’s bedtime._ Kelly, _please_ say goodnight to him, he won’t calm down until you do _—oh, where_ is Claire?” 

To add to Dean’s shock, he spotted Castiel walking into the room, her scandalous previous state of dress nowhere to be been. Instead, she looked shockingly like an average woman, dress in a modest blouse tucked into a dark brown skirt that tumbled down to the floor, held up by a black leather belt. On her feet, instead of painful looking stilettos, she wore black boots that poked out under the hem of the skirt as she walked. On her hip, she carried a little girl with golden hair, and she spoke softly to her, inspiring giggles in the child before handing her over to Jody, who was waiting with an open arm.

“Uh,” Dean muttered. “Does Castiel have a kid?”

“Nah,” Charlie snorted. “That’s Claire. She’s Castiel’s assistant.”

Sam laughed, though it sounded a bit strangled. “Her assistant? That tyke can’t be older than five.”

Charlie shrugged. “Well, unofficially. Claire is Heaven’s resident orphan. Everyone gives her little jobs because it makes her happy, but Cas is obviously her favourite. She follows her around like a puppy, and asks if she can help.” Charlie’s lips twitched up into a little smile. “I get the feeling Cas has a soft spot for her, so she’s always letting her hang out in her dressing room. If I had a nickel for all the times I’ve caught her putting on Cas’ lipstick or wearing her shoes or boas, I’d be rich.”

Dean watched the little girl and felt a pang of sadness for the child who had no parents. Castiel turned away from Jody’s retreating back and walked over to a group of angels, joining their crowd but not saying anything. He observed her eye everyone else and flash a tight smile whenever someone made eye contact with her.

“Anyway,” Charlie said as Kevin slid into his seat, sliding a tumbler of whiskey towards each inhabitant of their table, “cheers to you, Dean. You saved our asses.”

“I’ve never bullshitted so hard in my life,” Dean laughed as he raised his glass, meeting everyone else's’ with little sharp clinks. “I definitely appreciated all of your contributions. There were points where I was sure I’d flounder. But I’m happy I pulled it off for you, I can tell it means a lot.”

Everyone tipped their heads back to drink, taking hearty swallows of the burning tart, amber liquid. After five glasses hit the table tops, Charlie cleared her throat and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Tomorrow I’ll speak with Castiel and Balthazar. I’ll ensure Sam gets the lead and that your rent is covered for the duration of your time with us.”

Sam shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Dean noticed, and reached out to punch him in the shoulder, a brotherly gesture of affection. “Get that guilty look off your face, Sam,” he said. “A deal is a deal.”

While Dean had years of practice resisting Sam’s bitchface, Charlie rushed to console him after Sam’s lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. “Like I said earlier,” Charlie reassured, pressing a hand to Sam’s arm. “No one else is going to audition. Balthazar will likely just assign parts. He’ll want creative control of a lot of it. He, and Cas, and likely the Duke.”

Kevin shifted in his seat, tilting his glass in his hand. His eyebrows went up a bit and he leaned in, eyes darting around the table. “Yeah, but did you hear what the Duke is asking for in exchange?”

“Yup,” Charlie nodded, frowning grimly.

Dean and Sam exchanged confused looks. “How? We’ve all been together all evening? How could you have possibly heard about their specific dealings?”

Ash laughed and winked at Ellen behind the bar, making a drinking gesture with his hand. “Drinky-drink, Ellen?” He then crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at Dean. “News travels lightning fast around here, hombre. Likely, Castiel told one of her friends, and her friends gossiped during the show at some point tonight. Honestly, it was probably Meg that told everyone. That girl relishes in drama.”

“Castiel told Meg, who told Hannah, who told Rachel,” Ellen interrupted as she shook a cocktail in a shaker. Her light eyes turned up towards the ceiling thoughtfully. “Then I heard Rachel tell Michael when she was grabbing a drink for her patron, and then Michael told Gabriel—and well, if you ever want a secret kept, Gabriel is not the person to tell. He’s real private with his own life, but give the boy someone else’s secrets and that trickster will shout it from the heavens.” 

“Yikes,” Dean muttered, though everyone could hear him. “Remind me never to tell anything to this Michael or Rachel or Meg—”

“Everyone was gonna find out anyway,” a sultry voice said loftily from behind him. 

Dean and Sam turned around to see a short woman dressed in a long black dress, her arms crossed over her chest, one hand raised to her dark red lips. She sucked on the end of a cigarette elegantly, then blew the smoke at Dean, who coughed, waved through the cloud, and scowled at her.

“Ellen, a glass of sherry,” the woman ordered across their group, directed at the bartender.

“Hi Meg,” Charlie breathed, her eyes a bit wide all of a sudden. “Good dancing tonight. A-And singing, I mean, wow, you were great—”

“Thanks,” Meg said off-handedly, waving her cigarette through the air. She turned her dark eyes on Dean. He noticed she looked a lot like Castiel, with the sultry eyes and long brown hair, but there was something distinctly darker about her. She was genuinely sultry in every way. Where Dean understood that Castiel played a character who was a seductress, Meg seemed to naturally carry the trait in the very way she held herself and spoke. 

“So you’re the writer who deceived and lied to get into Castiel’s rooms tonight?” Meg asked, jerking her head a bit, her brows raising. Dean felt immediately defensive, especially as her lips twisted into a vindictively little crooked grin. “Can’t blame her for being fooled—” her eyes dragged down over Dean’s body, still clothed in fancy attire, “—you sure clean up nice for an artsy type.”

“I didn’t lie,” Dean said defensively, scowling. He lowered his glass and ran his gaze over her form coolly. “It was an accident, just a mix-up.”

“Such a convenient mixup,” Meg replied slowly, a little titter of laughter dancing in her tone. Dean’s heart jumped a bit. Meg was friends with Castiel, according to Charlie, so Dean desperately hoped Castiel didn’t think he was a liar too.

“I’m Meg,” the woman said, switching the subject. She held out a gloved hand to him. He took it wearily, and she shook it firmly. “Pleasure to meet you. I look forward to reading your story. Castiel tells me it’s stock full of fantasy and _flighty_ themes like love and family. I’m sure our regular crowd will eat it right up.”

The sarcasm in her voice was as clear as the diamonds hanging from her ears. Dean’s lips pursed further and he had to focus on not narrowing his eyes more. He was new here, it wouldn’t serve him to make enemies, even if this girl was treating him like a street rat.

“I’m Dean. And I’m sure they will,” Dean replied tightly, flashing her a fake smile. “Though it’ll hardly be a flighty story, Ms. Meg. Expect darker themes and—”

“Sex,” Charlie added, rubbing the back of her neck. “It wouldn’t be Heaven if we didn’t include sex in it, right?”

Meg glanced at Charlie, eyes bored, then stepped closer to Dean. He wondered if it was a universal problem among the angels that they disregarded personal space entirely. She tilted her head at him and smirked.

Quietly, her breath against his chin, she whispered, “If you need help with the darker, more lustful scenes, I can be of assistance to you. I’m sure if we work together, we can come up with some vivid scenes that may appeal to our regular audience, Dean-o.”

Dean stared, and around him his tablemates shifted awkwardly. Then his eyes lifted off of her face and stared over her shoulder. He watched Balthazar come up behind Castiel and rest a hand on her shoulder, nodding for her to follow. The two of them disappeared out onto the balcony after Castiel excused herself from her group.

Meg looked over her shoulder, following his gaze. To Dean’s displeasure, she snorted and rolled her eyes, stepping away from him. With a critical expression on her face and a mocking tone, she said, “Keep dreaming, writer-boy. Unless you’ve got a diamond necklace hidden in between the pages of your mad scribbles, our Angel of Thursday doesn’t have time to spare for you. Best quit while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean replied quickly, but against his will, his eyes darted back to the open balcony doors, watching Castiel and Balthazar chat.

Meg sighed. “You really should forget it. There’s no getting close to Castiel, she won’t love anyone. I don’t even know if she knows how.”

“That’s not true,” Charlie interrupted before she could help herself. Dean glanced over at her, watching an embarrassed flush creep across Charlie’s face instantly. With a slight puff of her chest, Charlie added with a waver in her voice. “You know that better than most.”

Meg glared at Charlie and her lip curled. She pointed her cigarette at Charlie and opened her mouth to retort, when Ellen snapped her fingers. “Hey, missy. Your drink.”

Meg took a moment to eye everyone coolly before she walked around their table, picked up her glass from the bar, and disappeared back into the crowd without another word.

“Jeeze,” Sam murmured. “What was her problem?”

Ash released a huffy breath of amusement. “Meg doesn’t like being rejected. She’s not used to it.”

“She also doesn’t like anyone who expresses interest in Castiel,” Charlie added in a whisper, staring after Meg as the woman joined a group of angels, throwing her arm around Hannah. “They had a fling about a year ago that ended badly for her.”

Dean and Sam exchanged raised brows of shock. Dean’s mouth dropped open, while Sam asked, “Meg and _CastielM_ had a fling?”

The three other veterans of Heaven all exchanged looks and broken into laughter.

“Well, it was a fling for _Cas_ ,” Kevin replied, smiling cheekily. “It was _love_ for Meg, clearly. She was obsessed with her—no, she _is_ obsessed with her. She still follows her around all the time and turns into even more of a raging bitch than she usually is if Castiel even so much as looks at someone else with interest.”

“There was a rumor going around, like, three months ago that Cas was sleeping with Dumah and—” Ash shuddered. “Everyone made sure to steer clear of Meg when Dumah was around, just in case she attacked her. Eventually, Dumah left Heaven because Meg started spreading rumors among the patrons that she was diseased. Balthazar had to let her go because the rumors were tainting the club’s image.”

Charlie nodded, resting her chin in her hand as she stared across the room at Meg. “The sad thing was that Cas and Dumah weren’t even having an affair. They just went out to dinner a few times and choreographed some new sets for a new show Balthazar wanted to try out.”

Kevin elbowed Charlie and smirked at Dean. “The irony is that Dumah was actually sleeping with Lucifer, who was Meg’s old beaux. Meg never found out about that because she was too busy being in a rage about the-affair-that-never-was.”

“That’s a lot of drama,” Dean murmured, watching Castiel speak quickly to Balthazar who nodded sympathetically. 

“Meg does have a point, though, Dean,” Charlie pointed out, her voice warning. “You’ve been watching Castiel since she walked into the room. Be careful. She doesn’t do, uh, relationships or any of that. She’s very professional, very private. Other than Meg, I’ve never seen her pursue anyone and even that I think was kind of a fluke.”

Dean sat up straight in his seat and looked away from Castiel to Charlie, shrugging. “Can’t a guy look? It’s not like I want to marry her.”

Sam joined in, elbowing his brother. “You _have_ been making heart eyes at her since she walked in, and we overheard your conversation with her in the service room tonight. There was a weird tension—”

“She was trying to seduce me when she thought I was the Duke, Sam,” Dean huffed. “Of course there was a weird tension.”

Ash, Kevin, Sam, and Charlie all exchanged looks of disbelief.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, while Charlie quoted, “so the story you came up with about Daniel, the hunter, falling in love with a rebellious angel named Celeste against all adversity just…came to you?”

“Of course it did!” Dean argued, scoffing. He raised his hands as he shrugged and he looked around the table. “You don’t all seriously think I based this story off of anything?”

“No, no,” Ash said, shaking his head. “Why would we think Daniel and Shaun are based off of you and Sam? Or that Celeste is based on Castiel, an angel from Heaven who suddenly finds herself taking orders from a domineering asshole named Zyon?” He paused, smirking. “I mean, _Zachariah_.”

Dean rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the table. “Shut up.”

“Whatever you say, Daniel,” Kevin teased, before tipping back the remnants of his beer. “Just do yourself a favour and don’t fall in love with her. Men often do and they’re fools. She doesn’t function that way, she doesn’t have the same heart as us free spirits.”

“Free spirits?” Charlie laughed in a bark. “Kevin, you are _not_ a free spirit. You’re wound up tight like a corset.”

“Corsets are tied up, not wound up,” Kevin corrected, hopping out of his seat and sliding his empty glass off the table, headed towards the bar.

Charlie waggled her empty glass at him and grinned as he took it grumpily. “See? Stickler. Wound up tight like a clock.”

“Shut it, Charlie, or I’ll forget to bring you back a drink!”

Sam laughed at their exchange, but did a double take when Dean raised himself from his seat and picked up his glass, moving away from their table. He reached out a grabbed Dean by the arm. “Hey, where are you headed?”

Dean jerked his head towards the French doors leading out to the balcony. “Gonna just go for a little walk.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Dean, did you not listen to anything these people have been saying to you? I know you’re going to go talk to Castiel.”

With a little tug, Dean jerked his arm out of his brother’s grasp. “I heard, I heard. Can’t I just talk to her, though? I want to apologize for the mix up earlier and thank her for the job.”

“Dean…”

Dean ignored his brother, dismissing him with a little stiff wave of his hand. He maneuvered through the tables, pausing to let people pass him, and slinking past a few couples that made their love known aggressively. Pausing at the doorway to the balcony, Dean suffered a moment of uncertainty, watching Castiel lean on the thick stone barrier as she listened to Balthazar speak to her. Bravery leaving him, Dean ducked out of sight, though he could hear their conversation clearly from this side of the room, far from the music player that played a jaunty, jazzy tune.

“He’s revolting, Balthazar.”

For a split second, Dean immediately thought she was talking about him and his stomach dropped. His suddenly clammy hands gripped his drink tighter. 

“I understand, Cassie, darling, but he’s a very powerful man. His investment is more than even I had anticipated. We can renovate, we can build a bigger stage and afford bigger sets, better lighting. We can essentially improve everything. He only asks for your attentions—”

“—and thirty percent of our ticket sales,” Castiel added dryly. The butterflies in Dean’s stomach fluttered, enraptured by the smooth rasp of her voice. _Fuck,_ he thought with a groan, _Sam and the gang are right. She’s talking sales cuts and I’m over here fawning over how her vocal cords make noise._

Balthazar’s low laugh floated into the room from the balcony. “Of course, clever girl. Did you expect anything less? He is a businessman. A vicious, vicious businessman who also is asking for ten percent interest on investment, and ten percent of our cover fee for the next six months until opening night.”

“We’re being robbed,” Castiel replied flatly.

“We are not being _robbed,_ darling. It’s business. In the long run, this will be worth it. We’ll make a better name for ourselves. We’ll be converted into a theatre house. Perhaps we can stop offering erotic services. My girl, wouldn’t you like to focus on your acting, to stop taking patrons to bed? He’s got his sights set on you, Castiel. He’s offered to make you a real star, a real actress. He’ll invest in you if you give yourself to him. You might never have to sleep with another man or woman for money ever again!”

“Except for him.”

Balthazar was quiet. Then; “Yes. Except for him. He has his sights set on you, angel. He doesn’t want anyone else.”

There was a silence and Dean’s stomach turned a bit at Balthazar’s words, feeling badly for this girl who was forced to entertain that lump of a duke. But Castiel’s next words had Dean choking back laughter;

“His breath smells like tuna.”

Dean clapped a hand to his mouth so his laugh wouldn’t travel. Balthazar wasn’t as subtle, bursting into surprised chortles. “Castiel!”

To Dean’s delight, he heard her own raspy laugh sparkle through the air as a breeze blew into the room from outside. 

“So you’ll do it, cherub?”

“Of course, I will, Balthazar. If I wasn’t willing, tonight’s meeting would have been very strange.” She paused. “Stranger than it already was.”

“I can imagine. What a night it has been for you, love.” 

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, before sighing heavily. “Dean is very handsome. When I thought _he_ was the Duke, I’ll admit, the idea of being his paid companion didn’t seem so tedious.”

“Careful, my girl,” Balthazar said, his voice warning. “Now is not a good time to swoon over a silly writer. The Duke is to be your focus for the next several months.”

“But it was so much easier to focus when the Duke had strong shoulders, bow legs, and quite a charming little smile.”

Dean nearly passed out. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and it only got worse when Balthazar and Castiel exchanged chuckles.

“And quite a firm little ass,” Balthazar added.

Castiel cleared her throat. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” Cas snorted. "But you clearly did." "Of course I did," Balthazar replied. "It took a good five minutes before I even realized he had a face."

“The face is impressive. You should take some time to look at it next time you have a chance.”

“Noted, darling. I’ll make sure to have a glance at it before I take another gander at the back side of him.”

Dean’s face burned as he was casually objectified just around the door frame by Castiel and her boss. The fact that Castiel found him attractive made his stomach do all kinds of fluttery tricks, but it was also flattering and amusing that Balthazar had taken a second to notice him in that way. Most men, especially in their time and age, would be disgusted. Outside the walls of Heaven and beyond bohemian circles, that kind of attention would be frowned upon, even considered dangerous. 

“Anyway, my love. Thank you. Your service and commitment to Heaven, as usual, is unyielding and appreciated,” Balthazar said. Dean dared peer around the door in time to see Balthazar move into her personal space, put his hands on her cheeks and press a kiss to her forehead. The women peered up at him, smiling a bit. Giving her little shake, Balthazar said, “Just one more patron, Castiel. Just one more john, and then you’ll finally be a star, all right?”

“Of course,” Castiel nodded. 

Balthazar’s hands slipped off her cheeks and he stepped away. Castiel raised a glass of white wine to her lips and turned away, gazing out into the night with her back turned to the door. Balthazar walked towards Dean, looking pensive.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped into the doorway, making it look like he’d just arrived. Balthazar slowed as he approached him, and with a little jolt of amusement, he noticed Balthazar’s eyes scan the features of his face. 

“Dean,” Balthazar said, extending his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean nodded, shaking Balthazar’s hand. “Thank you for, um, the job.”

“It’ll be the first time I’ve ever had someone hire themselves,” Balthazar quipped, his eyebrows jumping up a bit as he ducked his chin down. Dean blushed and struggled for words, but the manager of Heaven interrupted him with a hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for how you ended up in Castiel’s room dressed in clothing I had commissioned Charlie to make for one of my shows. The green looks dashing on you.”

Dean’s mouth gaped a bit, jerking his head down for a moment to look at his attire and run his hand nervously across his chest. Looking back up at Balthazar, he choked out, “Um, well—”

He swayed a bit when Balthazar clapped him on the arm, “Close your mouth, Dean. You’ll attract flies.” He moved past him, giving his arm a final squeeze. “Welcome to the team. I look forward to reading your script. Have the first few scenes ready for me by Monday.”

“Yes, sir."

Balthazar turned a bit and added, “If it’s shite, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hearing Balthazar’s footsteps disappear into the buzzing noise of music and chatter, Dean realised he was once again alone with Castiel, though she was busy pretending she didn’t know he was there. Her cover was blown, however, in the way her head turned a bit towards him when he’d spoken to Balthazar.

Dean cleared his throat, climbing the step to onto the balcony, the expensive shoes Charlie had given him to wear clicking on the hard stone.

“Hi,” Dean greeted, scratching at his cheek. 

Castiel turned her head a bit, peering at him over her shoulder before she returned her gaze to the view.

“Hello, Dean.”

He stared at her hair blowing gently in the breeze, fluttering against the small of her back.

Gathering some courage, he put one foot in front of the other and joined her, leaning on the stone barrier on his elbows, holding his pint of beer in between his palms. He gazed out into the night for a brief moment, noticing that they had a good view of neighbouring rooftops and alleyways. It wasn’t the view she had in her service room by any stretch of the imagination, especially as prostitutes solicited men just a few stories below them, visible on the street. 

“I just wanted to say, um, thank you for the job. I look forward to writing that story,” Dean said, surprised how casual he sounded despite his trembling hands. “And I wanted to say, I didn’t know Charlie hadn’t told you I was going to be in your rooms. As far as I was concerned, you had been made aware.”

“I can’t imagine your confusion when I made those advances,” she said bitterly, eyes narrowing out at the cityscape.

“Yeah, I was pretty shocked, “ Dean admitted.

“It was rather humiliating,” Castiel reported curtly, tucking a strand behind her ear. “You allowed me to make a fool of myself.”

That was not the response he’d been prepared for. 

Dean choked a bit, his mouth gaping. “No, uh, it was a mistake, a miscommunication. I must’ve looked like a real idiot too. I—” Dean felt the breeze turn cool on his skin as his face heated up. His heart sunk. “Oh, god, I told you I wanted to bring my brother with me at one point, didn’t I?”

The horror at his retrospect was lessened somewhat when Castiel snorted. “It wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve served two brothers at one time, but it doesn’t feel less absurd any time it happens,” she admitted, raising her glass to her lips. Casting him a quick sidelong glance, she asked against the rim of her glass, “So Sam is your brother?”

“Yeah,” he laughed a bit, shrugging. “How’d you know?”

“Because he’s massive,” she replied simply. “‘Like a ‘moose’, isn’t that what you said?”

“Yup.”

Castiel sipped from her glass then set it down on the stone with a click. Her lip twitched. “I can see why people refer to you as the short one.”

“I would very much like it if that didn’t catch on here,” Dean said tightly, shaking his head and rolling his glass between his hands.

They stood in an awkward silence, staring out down the street. Dean watched a prostitute in the streets below unsuccessfully try to solicit her services to passersby. Beside him, Castiel sipped from her glass.

“Anyway,” Dean started up again, reaching up to fiddle with the top button of his white dress shirt, “just wanted to apologize and let you know it was an honest mistake, but I’m real thankful you gave me the job.”

Castiel rolled her eyes, pursing her lips together. “I hardly _gave_ you anything.”

Dean’s heart sunk a bit and he nodded down at his glass, drumming his fingernails against it. He felt a bit of shame, knowing he only got this position because of the pickle they’d all gotten themselves into earlier. He really hadn’t done any convincing, and his story had kinda been half-assed anyway. She was right, he and Charlie and the gang had taken her and Balthazar’s choice away. 

“Well, thank you anyway,” he said, straightening up and pulling his glass close to his chest, ready to turn around. “I’ll, um, see you at rehearsal then.”

He was halfway across the balcony, heading back into the party, when Castiel asked a question.

“Will you be playing Daniel, then?”

Dean paused in his exit, frowning for a second, then he turned back and leaned against the railing again, understanding that she hadn’t dismissed him yet. “Nah, acting isn’t really my thing.”

“Have you tried it?” she asked, gracing him with a slight turn of her face towards him, her eyes—fuck were they ever blue, even in the night—sweeping over his face. He couldn’t read her.

“I dabbled.” Dean shrugged. “Sam’s wanted to be an actor since we were children, so when we were old enough we both joined a theatre group in town. I acted in a couple plays, just enough for Sammy to get comfortable with everyone, then I stepped back and did some backstage work until our father made me get a job.”

“Were you terrible at it?” Castiel asked, resting her chin on her shoulder as she surveyed him fully now.

Dean laughed. “Uh, no. I was pretty okay at it, but I don’t consider myself an actor by any stretch of the imagination. I prefer writing. It’s what I’m good at.” He paused, and then added with a clear of his throat, “I was thinking Sam could play Daniel, y’know? I think he’d do a good job.”

Castiel's brow raised. “Yes, I imagine he’d have a good grasp of the character.” Her eyes swept down Dean’s body and then back up to his face, defiantly.

Oh...so she had caught on to who Shaun and Daniel were based off it. Granted, it wasn’t too much of a riddle and essentially everyone with a brain other than the Duke could surmise where he’d gotten inspiration, but even still... Dean turned away, pouting his lips awkwardly out at the city. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he lied.

The smell of cinnamon and sweet lemon-honey tea gently permeated his personal space as Dean felt her step closer to him. 

“Curious,” she challenged, “that Daniel gets the angel in the end. I wonder where that fantastical idea came from? I’m inclined to agree with Zachariah; I don’t understand why she would allow herself to fall in love with Daniel when Zyon can offer her power and protection.”

Dean scowled, shrugging with disbelief. “Because he’s a tyrant and he’s domineering. He’s not interested in Heaven, he’s interested in control.”

“But she’s an angel,” Castiel argued back, shaking her head a bit. “Isn’t it her job to serve Heaven no matter who gives orders?”

Dean shrugged, then leaned down a bit to equal her eye-level. “She’ll learn eventually that that isn’t true.”

"I see. And the power of love will do that for her?”

When he grinned a little, she rolled her eyes and he wondered if he should warn her they’d get stuck like that one day. “Ms. Grace, it kind of sounds like you don’t believe in love.” Dean smirked, finally feeling like he had the upper hand for a moment, especially when she stepped back from him and crossed her arms, her white wine clung in her hand. 

“It’s certainly ridiculous, isn’t it?” she countered. “An angel falling in love.”

Dean huffed. “Well, well, isn’t someone skeptical?”

She sighed, setting down her glass on the stone once more and leaning her hip on the barrier. Dean felt playful all of a sudden, fed by her annoyance. She was cute when she was annoyed, with her scowl and narrowed eyes.

“It’s silly,” she said, shaking her head to throw hair behind her shoulder. Her face was set in a challenge expression, one brow raised. “Love is a fairy tale. It’s ridiculous that Celeste would turn her back on her mission for one man.”

Dean choked on a laugh, shaking his head. “Wow, that is pessimistic. Love is _not_ a fairy tale.”

“You can’t be serious. _That_ kind of love is a fairytale. A fairytale or something that happens to fools who have nothing to lose.”

It couldn’t be helped. Dean released a bark of laughter, which he quickly tried to stifle when her other brow raised to match the first one. “Sorry,” he chuckled, gesturing to the air with his beer. “It’s just, I mean, who hurt you?”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. The playful, challenging air to their conversation dissolved, and Castiel’s eyes narrowed so much he hardly saw blue anymore. Her jaw clenched. With one look of dislike, she took up her glass of wine and made to leave.

Shit.

Dean’s hand shot out and he grabbed her by the elbow, letting go when she spun on him.

“Hands off, Winchester,” she growled. 

He recalled a flashing silver blade aimed at his chest not two hours ago and he stepped away from her, though he raised his hands placatingly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, her voice low, her eyes suspicious, although she wasn’t moving towards the door anymore. “You should show me some respect.”

Dean swallowed hard. 

“I got you this job,” she said steadily, and Dean felt dread in his stomach at her tone. “I can certainly have it taken away.”

Dean nodded, words stuck in his throat, somehow knowing that she wasn’t bluffing. Sure, he hadn’t known this opportunity was going to present itself to him and Sam, but now that he had his rent covered and Sam basically had the lead in this play, he felt scared to lose it.

To his surprise, she stepped towards him and replied angrily, “To answer your question; too many people.”

They stared at each other; Dean frightened of her but intrigued, while Castiel’s face was hard, though behind her eyes he saw something like hurt. 

“So when I say I don’t understand why Celeste would ever turn her back on Heaven, I say it from experience,” Castiel clipped. “Love only begs for pain and betrayal. No one comes out alive. It never ends well.”

And while he was overall a smart guy, and he genuinely wanted this job now, Dean Winchester was the king of putting his foot in his mouth. Before he could tell himself to back down, Dean shrugged and shook his head, setting down his beer and sliding his hands into his pockets. “I disagree."

“Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter, does it? I apologize for being critical of your story. That...was rude of me.”

“It’s all right.” Dean pulled his hand from his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess we’re kinda even, then?”

A curt nod was the response he got from her. Then, after an awkward moment, she added, “The story itself is very good. I’m interested to see how you develop it.”

“Thanks.”

“And the Duke likes it,” she continued, both hands now around her glass of wine, turning it distractedly. “That is what matters, overall.”

Dean felt anger bubble in his chest at the mention of the Duke. He cleared his throat and murmured bitterly, “Yeah. I suppose that’s all that matters.”

She must’ve sensed his displeasure, or maybe she misinterpreted his tone, because her own tone softened and she added, “Your play is important, Dean. I don’t know how much information Charlie entrusted to you, but this play, the stage expansion, the conversion of Heaven into a theatre, it is important. Much of Heaven’s fate rests on you. On your story.”

Dean licked his lips defiantly and hummed, staring over her shoulder into the now-smokey room. “Yeah, I know.” Then he paused, eyes trailing back to her face. “And it rests on you too.” When she frowned, he clarified, “On the deal you have with _him_.”

Her faced hardened again and she replied tightly, “That’s Heaven’s business, that isn’t of import to you.” Again, she turned away, and this time she very nearly made it to the open french doors before Dean’s words gave her pause.

“He…” Dean licked his lips, his stomach souring as he recalled the Duke’s demeaning tone. “He called you a whore.”

Castiel turned back to him, her mouth turned on to a somewhat weary frown. “This is what I am.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Still, he shouldn't have said it how he did."

Castiel was walking back towards him, her boots clicking against the stone. "I am paid to make men believe what they want to believe. I am paid to do what they want me to do.” She stopped in front of him, staring into his face with an intensity he didn’t know what to do with. “What else does that make me?"

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. “It just seemed crude, what he said.”

“It is what it is,” she murmured, eyes dragging across his face like she was looking for something. “They pay me, I do what they want.”

“Is Zachariah?”

“What?”

“Paying you.”

Castiel turned her drink in her hand. Then, simply, “Yes. He’ll pay for the renovations, he’ll invest in the play, and in exchange, he gets a cut of our ticket sales, door fee, and he gets me.”

Why that turned Dean’s stomach, he didn’t know. Or he didn’t want to know, because the only explanation was that he was jealous, and that was just _ridiculous_ because he’d only known this girl for not even three hours and she definitely wasn’t interested. _She’d only seemed interested because she thought you were a rich duke,_ Dean reminded himself as he remembered tenderly linking fingers with her moments before she leaned over him, and kissed him in a way he couldn’t very well ever forget.

“Is it always like this?” Dean asked, once again before the filter between his brain and his mouth had a chance to function properly.

She raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Do you always have to do what they order? Do you always, um—” Dean winced. “— _belong_ to them?”

She swayed a bit on the spot to the music floating out from the party, looking pensive. After a moment, she shrugged and gazed down into her glass, eyes diverted, “I typically am rented for a night. Sometimes for sex, other times for companionship. It’s been a few years since I was merely rented for a fleeting sex act or two with a random patron. Balthazar keeps me busy with valuable clients.” Her painted fingernails drummed on the glass, and she sniffed curtly. “But I don’t _belong_ to anyone, I belong to Heaven. If being an escort to the Duke during his stay for the next six months is part of my service to Heaven, then so be it.”

“Do you always have to do only what they order?”

Again, a shrug. “Most of the time.”

“Do you…” _Don’t ask, Dean. It’s none of your business._ “...derive any pleasure from it? I mean, do you have a good time?”

Castiel tilted her head and a strong breeze blew some of her wavy hair over her collarbone. “You are very nosy,” she pointed out. “My pleasure is none of your business.”

“So that’s a no then,” Dean said, mentally kicking himself. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

Her skirt swayed as she shifted her weight on her feet. He thought she might turn around and leave, which was nothing less than he deserved, but she replied bluntly, tone flat, “It’s a no. I am rarely asked what I want, and there are very few men who pay _me_ to tell _them_ what to do. Asking me what I want is never part of the transaction, nor should it be. Often they provide a list of what they desire, and I perform.”

“That doesn’t seem fair."

Castiel’s gaze jumped up from her glass and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not paid for them to fuck me fairly. I’m paid to create a fantasy.”

Such a dirty word seemed foreign on her lips, but she hadn’t hesitated to speak to him that way. Slowly, he watched the facade come down, and Dean felt a pull to her, interested to see how else her persona would dissolve if he pried.

“Well, I’m sorry that the Duke called you a whore and a tramp.” He lifted his glass to his mouth, but felt the warmth of the glass in his hand and lowered it. “Somehow I can sense that you’re a lot more than that.”

He wasn’t sure what he said wrong, but Castiel seemed to bristle and she turned away, saying, “You don’t know me.”

“Well,” he said loudly, “there’s more to you than they’ll ever see, because they don’t care to.”

For the third time, Castiel turned back. At this rate, she was nearly inside the room again. Puzzled, she asked, “Who?”

“The type of men who call you those names.”

The slow, calculating click of her heels as she walked back outside made him nervous and it took conscious effort to not step back at her approach. Blue eyes searched his face when she came to a stop in front of him, teetering dangerously on the limits of his personal space. He watched her lips as she spoke next, slowly and critically; “As if your first thought when you first saw me wasn’t that I was a whore.”

His stomach dropped and something very similar to guilt made his chest hurt for a moment. It was true. He couldn’t deny it. He wished he could, but he couldn’t very well tell her he hadn’t thought that. It would be a lie. “Well, I regret it.”

She leaned in a bit, her sweet breath on his lips. He ran his tongue over them, suddenly parched. Silkily, eyes searching his face, she whispered, “You only regret that you can’t afford me, Winchester. If you had enough coin to spend a night with me, you wouldn’t think twice about labelling me as nothing but a whore. You would be just as selfish as they are. You’re no better than those men who you are so quick to judge.”

Dean pulled back, wincing. “No, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re _wrong_.” 

“So you don’t want to sleep with me?” Castiel asked, brows raised, her lips twisted into an arrogant smirk.

In his chest, he felt a little flare of indignation, especially because she was right. 

“Yeah, of course I want to sleep with you. But not because I want you to do things _for_ me.” Dean ran a hand over his lips to buy him a second, trying to still his heart from hammering against his chest as it was. He couldn’t believe he’d just come out and said it. “Sex is a team effort. Everyones pleasure matters.” He gestured to her, aware that there was very little space between them to move. “Your pleasure would matter to me.”

“Hardly,” Castiel murmured. “That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.”

Dean felt offended and he didn’t quite know how to unpack the feeling. He felt like he was being honest and genuine, but she was making him doubt himself. He _did_ care about her, he did care if she felt taken care of. For some stupid reason, he felt indignation on her behalf that she wasn’t put in situations where her pleasure mattered. But at the same time, her words made him take pause. If he had the money, would he have paid for her services like any of those other schmucks? Would he have cared if she received pleasure when he was a paying customer?

“Your pleasure would matter to me,” he declared again, feeling a swell of bravery. “That kind of stuff…it always matters with me.”

“You’re not any different than anyone else,” she countered, smirking.

For some reason, it stung. Dean blinked and stepped away. This time, he was the one to try and leave the interaction. With a short nod in her direction, he turned away and leaned on the stone barrier again, setting down his warm drink and staring out at the city. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. You came out here to thank her for a job, and instead, you’ve managed to contort this conversation into telling her that you’d like to sleep with her? No wonder she’s suspicious. You—_

Cinnamon and sweet honey-lemon tea filled his nose for a moment as Castiel's’ warm presence re-joined him at the barrier, her arm grazing his as she settled.

Softly, she spoke. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Dean. I am simply used to hearing the same lines from patrons, who always end up being the same behind closed doors. It wasn’t my intention to attack your character.”

Dean nodded, staring out at the street, watching the prostitute finally rope in a john. They disappeared down an alleyway together. 

“Before, when you thought I was the Duke, and...and after, too, I thought I felt a…” Dean took a deep, slow breath. “...connection?”

Summoning every wisp of courage in his body, he turned his head to look at her and found her already gazing at him, eyes unreadable. He did notice a small smile on her lips, and he thought she looked a bit wistful.

“Dean, you said it yourself, I’m a strategist,” she said with a small, sad laugh. “I’m a courtesan, a whore, an escort; pick your poison. I… How did you say it? Make ‘poor bastards hand me cash with just one look’? Well, I do more than that. A lot more.” Her eyes trailed over his face. “I make men believe what I want them to believe. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Dean said, a little heartbroken. “Stupid, really, for me to think you could see anything in me. I-I don’t say that for pity, I just… Well, I was warned.”

Her brows knitted together. “Warned?”

“Yeah. A few people have told me you’re… They told me that you don’t ‘do’ love.”

“Love?” Castiel whispered in surprise. “No, I don’t do love. They’re right; I can’t.”

Raising a brow at her, Dean picked up his glass at tilted it at her, asking, “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” she replied, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “It’s dangerous. It…feeds doubt, changes motivations. It-It’s confusing and it tears _everything_ down. It gets in the way.” 

“That’s bullshit."

She blinked. “What?”

“A life without love is not a life at all.”

Her scoff simultaneously amused him and made him feel an odd empathetic sadness. She pulled a strand of hair from her face as the wind gusted it across her jaw. “No, Dean. A life without money, and shelter, and food is not a life at all.”

“And a rich Duke with lots of money doesn’t hurt either,” Dean said, and for the eighty-fourth time that even, went red, immediately regretting the foot he shoved so far in his mouth it tickled his ass.

But Castiel smirked. “A rich Duke who will save my home, potentially end the erotic services my brothers and sisters have to provide to live, give them more wholesome alternatives, and make me a real actress? No, Dean, it doesn’t hurt either.”

Dean gestured at his chest. “But all of that without love? Forever?”

“Yes.”

“That feels empty. Who will you share your money, and home, and jewels with when you’re a famous actress? Your reflection in the mirror?”

Castiel threw back the rest of her wine and put the glass down on the stone, turning to face Dean head-on. Her eyes were ablaze. “It’s better than heartbreak and betrayal. My own reflection won’t leave or hurt me. My own reflection provides purpose. If I let myself down, that’s something I can live with—”

“I wouldn’t,” Dean interrupted, throwing her a meaningful sidelong glance. 

Castiel stared at him sharply. “Wouldn’t what?”

“Hurt you,” Dean murmured, internally in awe at his own patheticness. Was he _seriously_ trying to gain the affections of the most unattainable woman in this place?

Castiel thought just as much, because she leaned in and whispered, “You’re insane, Winchester. You’ve practically propositioned me twice since we began talking a mere fifteen minutes ago. I assure you, your passion and determination would dissolve after your first orgasm faded.”

“Well, there’s only one way to test that theory, now, isn’t there, Cas?” Dean challenged, grinning a bit.

Castiel, who looked ready to storm off, sucked in a sharp breath and she looked like she would scold him for calling her a pet name, but instead, she said, “You want to fuck me.”

“Yes, sure,” Dean replied, stepping closer to her. They were nearly the same height, so when she exhaled, her breath danced across his lips. “But you know, if it was as simple as that, I wouldn’t bother you. I’d keep it to myself. But I have it on good authority that you have a thing for men who have ‘strong shoulders, bow legs, and charming smiles’.”

Castiel’s face went blank and she licked her lips repeatedly. Dean felt a small swell of giddiness as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“When you kissed me earlier,” Dean challenged, “there was something there.”

“You have to pay,” Castiel murmured back reflexively, though her eyes were on his lips as he grinned a little, his teeth showing. “There’s a fee to be with me.”

Dean shook his head, pushing onward. “You have a Duke who will be giving you every material thing you need, you don’t need my money. But there was something there before and…” Dean shook his head. His hand balled into a fist at his side as he held onto his remaining courage for dear life. “...I’d regret not asking you if you felt it too. Did you?”

“You’re crazy,” Castiel breathed, though she didn’t move when Dean reached out and his hand hovered near hers, fingers brushing. 

“When was the last time you had sex for _you_ and not because it made Balthazar a pretty penny?”

He wasn’t sure why he was being so persistent, but perhaps it was because she hadn’t walked away yet, not really. She wasn’t exactly turning him down and her eyes were watching his lips as she pondered her answer.

“I won’t give into you,” turned out to be her reply. He was puzzled when she began walking away.

Dean threw his hands up in the air. “Everyone wants sex. I want sex, you want sex. At least I’m honest. I’m not here pretending I can provide diamonds and cash, but I can show you a good time without holding money over your head and making it about me. Come on, Cas. Choose yourself. Let yourself have some fun. Exercise some free will. I can tell you want me. If you don’t believe in love, at least believe in lust.”

Castiel turned to him, frowning. “You’re persistent. Annoyingly so.”

Dean grinned. “You haven’t left yet, though.”

Castiel’s lip twitched. “That is owing to the embarrassing amount of times you’ve pulled me back into conversation.”

“I’ll do it again,” he laughed. “Listen, I-I would like to sleep with you, yes, but only because you’ve made it very difficult for me to walk away, knowing that you’re going to be at that Duke’s beck and call for six months.” Dean winced. “Are you really going to go six months without an orgasm?”

He was rewarded with a genuine yelp of laughter from the girl in front of him. Castiel pressed a hand to her mouth, looking surprised at the sound herself. Her brows shot up onto her forehead. “Dean, are you genuinely offering me charity orgasms?”

“Sure,” Dean grinned, shrugging and sliding his hands into his pockets. 

She pressed a hand to her chest and smiled at him. “I believe I’ll be servicing other clients on the side as per usual, Dean. But I will say, no one has ever offered me free charity orgasms before. That was a first.”

Dean nodded. “So nothing is going to happen between us?”

Her hand fell back to her side. “No, I’m sorry, Dean.”

“And you’re going to walk away now,” Dean said jerking his head at the doorway to the party, “into that room, away from me. And you’re not going to wonder what it would’ve been like if you’d said yes?”

Castiel was still for a moment, then she nodded. “That’s right”

Dean jerked his head in a little nod and he averted his eyes to the floor. “Right. So we didn’t have a moment or connection or whatever, and you have no interest in letting me get to know you, and you definitely wouldn’t wonder what it would’ve been like to make love to me then?”

“You mean ‘fuck’?” Castiel asked bluntly.

“Sure,” Dean murmured. “I guess love would’ve been off the table too.”

“Exactly,” she replied quickly, fingers tightening around her glass. A breeze blew some hair in her face.

“And you wouldn’t have wondered what it could have been like if you just gave me one night to make you feel...taken care of? Pleasured unselfishly?” Dean shrugged, suggesting with a half-hearted playfulness, “You would’n’ve have appreciated a couple earth-shattering orgasms?”

Castiel smirked. “Just a couple?”

Dean ran his hand over his mouth, feeling defeated. But he shrugged and slid the hand back into his pocket. “Right. Okay. Well, nevermind then. I’m sorry if I was too persistent or annoying.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly, turning away. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean watched her walk through the french doors, this time not trying to stop her.


	5. Charity Orgasms

Following Castiel’s rejection, Dean spent the rest of the night making sure he had his back to her and a drink in his hands at all times. His walk home was wobbly and uneven as the street around him spun and was only righted when Sam grabbed him by the arm to help him to his room.

Though Sam had reminded him over a hungover breakfast this morning that they’d met a bunch of angels and staff last night, Dean didn’t remember a thing after his catastrophic talk with Castiel. He hadn’t meant to drink so much, but the strong whiskey flowed freely from Ellen’s bar, and it helped numb the rejection that had been a blow to his confidence.

He could handle rejection just fine. He just couldn’t handle rejection from _Castiel_ just fine. 

Castiel was fire and ice all at once. He’d only known her for a few hours, and he hadn’t intended on propositioning her, or admitting to her that he was interested, but in the end, he had, and the way she shut him down had hurt more than expected.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her; she was a bit cold and frankly kind of weird, and very defensive, but he kept looking at her through the mirror behind the bar and he kept reminding himself to not look over his shoulder at her. She wasn’t interested, she was out of his league, she thought he was a self-interested pig who wanted to take something from her for free that she charged others for. She was partially right but he didn’t have the malicious intentions she thought he did. 

Then again, none of her clients probably had malicious intentions… The idea stung; that he was just like any other drooling idiot she dealt with every night. But maybe she was right, and maybe that’s why he was so determined for her to sleep with him. Maybe he wanted to prove to her that he was different or better than people she’d been with? Maybe he wanted her to see him as someone more than some drooling idiot. Maybe she’d struck a nerve.

Damn it, the girl was a challenge. Maybe Dean wanted to prove himself. Maybe he wanted to—

Oh, who was he kidding? Castiel was fiery, beautiful, and kind of mean, but in a defensive kind of way that he wanted to unpack. She was this gorgeous enigma that he wanted to get to know; body, mind, and soul. He wanted to know her in several senses of the word, even if that sounded cliche or just plain pathetic. Yes, he’d been purely attracted to her body at first, entranced by her muscles and curves, and by her eyes and that chiseled face, but through the course of events that night, he’d also realised that she was kind of weird and sexy in not only an erotic way, but in a dorky and mysterious way. Her personality was peeking out through blue eyes, hidden behind cheekbones and furrowed brows and a pouty little frown. 

She’d turned him down. She didn’t believe in love. She was determined to do what it took to save her family, her home, but she didn’t have time for love, one of the fundamental keystones of happiness, in Dean’s opinion.

She was confusing.

Dean liked confusing.

But… she was also kind of funny too? It had peeked out a few times, that dry, sarcastic humour. It had slipped out almost by accident. It slipped out just enough to indicate to Dean that the seductress or the stiff, emotionless professional was a glamour that concealed a real-life flesh and bone person under there.

Dean sat in his bedroom, straddling the wide window frame, sitting on the sill and staring down at the typewriter between his legs. It was Saturday night. He’d spent Friday being hungover with Sam and allowing Charlie to drag them out to a cafe for breakfast. Then he’d spent most of Saturday sleeping, still trying to dismiss the sting of rejection from one of the most extraordinarily interesting women he’d spoken to in years.

It was dark outside before Dean remembered that he had a story to write. Balthazar wanted pages for Monday for rehearsal.

Never had Dean stumbled out of bed so quickly. The book he’d spent all day reading was a folded, heaping mess on the floor at his bedside. 

Hours later, Dean adjusted his butt on the ledge, feeling his backache from sitting there, but also torn about moving. His view was lovely, the breeze was welcome, and the sill was such a good spot to sit it felt like a waste to be indoors.

Dean was a bit stuck on what to write.

He’d established the setting and had written about Daniel’s escape from his grave. He had reunited him with his brother, Shaun, and friend, Robbie. The tricky part was introducing Celeste. He’d written a few scenes but scrapped them. Celeste's aborted dialogue sat in a growing mound of balled up pieces of paper at the base of Dean’s dresser. 

He’d written her friendly at first; a smiling, floating ball of celestial giddiness. She’d been so happy to save Daniel from Hell, so honoured to be in his presence—

But that had been so colossally stupid that Dean had actually taken a lighter to the page and burnt half of it before he realised the play wasn’t important enough to be the reason he died in a tragic house fire. 

Then he’d written Celeste to be shy. She was this coy, but curious creature who hardly spoke and just walked circles around Daniel. She couldn’t believe that she’d been able to raise him from Hell.

Dean threw that idea out the window—literally. Down in the street under his balcony, the ball of paper no doubt bounced off the head of an unfortunate bystander, a victim to Dean’s writer block.

Then Celeste was this eruption of fury and power. She was aggressive and intimidating. Daniel and Robbie cowered from her. She filled the room with fear and trepidation. She commanded him to obey the word of God and threatened to throw him into Hell if he even so much as thought to disobey—

And that idea was almost as stupid as the rest. Almost. It did provide him with a line to use later on in the play, but that was the only purpose it served.

It ended up crumpled up on the floor.

Then, Dean recalled Castiel. Blue eyes looked up at him, a frown etched onto her lips, a confused little line formed between her eyes as her brows furrowed. He remembered her tilting her head at him, guarded but intrigued. Stoic and defensive, or not, Castiel had been curious about him, and she’d balanced out her attitude with a classy demeanor. She was slightly arrogant but she wasn’t vain.

Dean’s fingers tapped and pressed down on the keys for a solid forty minutes after his recollection. Celeste came to him a bit easier, bursting through the doors of a barn, sending bursts of electricity and crackling air around everyone in the scene. She was curious but powerful, peering around the barn with vague interest, resting her gaze confidently on her target when she’d found it; there he was, her ward, her charge. A small smirk curled on her lips when she rediscovered the righteous man, ignoring the knife he drove into her chest with aggression.

Dean was so into the scene that he almost didn’t hear the knock on the door.

Sam had gone out tonight with Charlie, Ash, and Kevin, back to Heaven for their slower night; Seraph Saturday, a lighter toned night, less flashy and busy than Thursdays. There were some angels Sam had met at the party performing and he wanted to go “support his new castmates”. Dean had been invited but he hadn’t wanted to face Castiel just yet, in case she was one of the performers. He’d wanted at least the entire weekend to lick his wounds in peace and control the constant flush of embarrassment on his face before Monday morning.

The second set of sharp knocks jerked Dean out of the scene, forcing him to pause halfway through Celeste’s dialogue; “You don’t think”... and then nothing.

 _Probably for the best anyway,_ he thought. He hadn’t had a fucking clue what Daniel was thinking in that section and he was about to fill the space with bullshit. He was still working on how Daniel felt about the event of his reanimation.

“Quit knocking, you drunk ass,” Dean barked towards the door at Sam, scrubbing his hand through his hair and shoving his feet into some worn loafers. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

When he reached the door and wrenched it open, laughing (“I’m going to throw you off the balcony for bugging me, I was just getting into a scene—”), he stared up at the darkness of the hallway, expecting someone taller.

He didn’t expect to swivel his eye line about a foot south to meet Castiel’s gaze.

“Oh, shit,” Dean blurted it out before he could help himself. 

The only thing stopping him from clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment was the surprised little amused jerk of Castiel’s shoulders and the ghost of a smile on her dark plum-panted lips. 

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, eyes on his face as Dean gaped at her a few times, his mouth flapping dumbly like a fish.

‘No, not at all’ or ‘yes, go away’ would have both been perfectly reasonable answers, but instead Dean just said, _“‘Uuuuh...”_ and dragged his eyes down her body weakly, probably looking very pathetic as he drank in the long fitted dark blue satin dress. The thin fabric hugged every single curve of her body until her hips, where it then hung straight down to the floor, flapping around high heels that made her the same height as Dean. Nothing about the dress left anything to the imagination, though Dean’s ran wild anyway. It was clear as day that she wore no undergarments. The thin, spaghetti straps that held up the piece of clothing sat snuggly on her shoulders, holding up the low-v cut.

_Speak, Dean. Words. Mouth. Move. Blah-blah-blah. Hello, I’m Dean, I’m an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach. Saying anything!_

“Can I come in?” Castiel asked, looking at him suspiciously before her eyes darted over his shoulder into his apartment.

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah,” was all he managed to say as he stepped aside and let her in.

She stepped past him into the small space, and Dean tried not to be obvious when he inhaled the sweet perfume that reminded him of sweet lemon-honey tea and cinnamon. He closed the door behind her, his heart hammering as he considered that she was in his room, by his bed, standing in his home dressed in _that,_ smelling like _that._

Again, he should have said something, but Dean leaned back against the door instead. For a suspended moment in time, he looked at her, colourful and elegant in the middle of his shabby, messy apartment (if one could call a single room with a kitchenette and curtained off bathroom an apartment). She seemed so out of place. She looked like a galaxy with her shining blue dress and fair, glittery skin, and with her luminous, smooth waves of brown hair that looked even darker than it should against the brilliant sparkle of chandelier diamond earrings. Her lips were dark plum and matte, looking soft and velvety. The cool tones in the lipstick made her eyes extraordinarily blue, almost electric as they stood out against the dark, smudgy eye kohl and painted lashes. She wore a thin, long black coat that was open and hanging loosely off her shoulders, framing her body in the dress.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, finally, after tearing himself out of his vacuum of paused time and space where Castiel was a galaxy in his dumb room. Ugh, he really was a pathetic writer.

Taking in the puddles of clothing on the floor, empty coffee cups on his nightstand, balls of abandoned Celeste-introductions at the base of his dresser, and a general state of chaos, Dean desperately wished he’d headed Sam’s warning this morning to clean up a bit.

He even opened his mouth to say so when Castiel half-turned to him and looked over her shoulder, waving vaguely towards the window sill and the typewriter there.

“Were you writing?” she asked curiously. 

“Yes.” Dean nodded, stepping away from the door cautiously. “Just the first few scenes of the play. Balthazar wants them by Monday—”

Before he knew what was happening, Castiel had picked up the last bunch of pages Dean had written. With a jolt of his stomach and a quick step, Dean said quickly, “Th-they’re not done. They’re just ideas—”

“ _I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,”_ Castiel read out loud. She then paused, while Dean nearly died of embarrassment. A little giggle from her had Dean’s heart skip a beat. Castiel was smirking up at him before, with a cocky little tilt of her head, she asked, “Will I also be receiving a writing credit for this, Dean?”

Dean wondered how red he was in the face, though he tried to smile cheekily and shrug. “It ended up working for the scene, so I left it. You’re welcome.”

To his horror, she continued to flip through the pages, reading his shitty scenes. While her mouth moved silently as she read to herself, Dean tried to work around the lump in his throat to ask her what that hell she was doing in his room at this time of night.

“This,” she said, eyes on the page. “This is a vessel.”

Dean stared at her blankly for a second, wondering why she’d referred to the stack of papers in her hand as ‘a vessel’, when he suddenly realised she was reading out loud.

Castiel stared at him, then said expectantly, “You have a line.”

“Oh,” he murmured, realizing that she wanted him to play along. He recited the next line from memory; “ _You’re possessing some poor woman?”_

Castiel stepped forward, pressing a hand to her chest, her eyes still on the page. “ _She’s a devout woman, she actually prayed for this_.”

It was silly and this situation was so confusing, so Dean shouldn’t be as giddy as he was, but it was suddenly very exciting to hear the dialogue fall from Castiel's’ lips. She was perfect for this role; she was exactly how he’d pictured Celeste, in the awkward way she was holding herself, to the tone of her voice and the quiet power that she commanded.

“ _Well,_ ” Dean whispered as she got close enough to him, blue eyes flickering up expectantly from the pages, “ _I’m not buying what you’re selling here, so who are you really?’_

She kept her eyes trained on his face, watching him intensely. “ _I told you.”_

Dean nodded, and tried to look suspicious. “ _Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?_ ”

Her heels clicked very softly on the wood as she approached him slowly, carefully, calculated. “ _Good things to happen, Daniel_ ,” she murmured deliberately, coming to a stop less than a foot from him, seriously infringing on his personal space.

Remembering her last night, telling him nothing would ever happen between them, Dean’s eyes narrowed. “ _Not in my experience.”_

 _“What’s the matter?”_ she asked in curious whisper. She narrowed her eyes a bit like she was squinting to find something in his eyes. Dean’s heart thundered under her gaze and he felt vulnerable all of a sudden, like she could read his thoughts. Then, in the most perfect way she said like a revelation, “ _You don’t think.”_

Oh. Right. That’s where it stopped.

She did a double take down onto the page and frowned. Then her intense gaze disappeared and she scowled. “‘ _You don’t think_ ’? Is that what she really says?”

Dean licked his lips and smiled sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Uh, no. I just haven’t figured out what else she says just yet.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, her shoulders slumping a bit. “Well, good. Because ‘ _you don’t think_ ’ is stupid.”

She definitely didn’t have a problem speaking her mind, he noted.

“Right,” he nodded abruptly, reaching out in the small space between them to take the papers from her. They slipped from her hands easily, and he moved around her to put them back on the table by the window where she’d retrieved them. “Well, I’ll definitely be working on it more over the rest of the weekend.”

 _Ask her why she’s here,_ he urged himself as he bought some time, tapping at the sheets to make them neat and tidy before he put them back. Dean turned around, his mouth open and ready to ask, when she spoke first.

“Is Sam around?” she asked too casually. He noted her raised eyebrows and the awkward shifting of her feet. She was too made up, too put together. Dean’s heart sunk a bit, realising she probably got dolled up for Sam. Of course, Sam was the more handsome brother; taller, more muscular. He was an actor, he had a nicer smile, a more charming laugh. He was smart, he could sing, he could—

“Um, no,” Dean murmured, slipping his hands in his pockets. He hoped his disappointment wasn’t too obvious on his face, but in truth, it was probably written all over it. “He’s out. He’s with Charlie at Heaven, if you’re looking for him. I can tell him you came by to see him—”

“I didn’t,” she interrupted simply, quietly. Dean’s heart began to pound in a different way when she took more steps towards him slowly. “I came looking for you.”

Dean swallowed. “Oh?”

She stopped, this time halfway towards him, and he noticed her fingers rubbing at her palms at her sides. Was she nervous?

Her face didn’t give her away. She looked almost bored when she explained, “I was with Zachariah tonight. We had dinner.”

Ah. So the sexy evening dress, the shoes, the diamond earrings, the soft, sensual perfume… that made sense. Everything about her was put together. She had done it all for the Duke, for her contractual beaux.

Dean did nothing else but nod and be appreciative of the night breeze blowing in through his windows, cooling the sensation of heat on the back of his neck.

He watched her tongue as it slipped out and licked at her bottom lip. In a whisper, she said, “He’s very boring. His voice is nasally; it irritates me.”

Despite himself, despite that Zachariah was technically all of their bosses and he should be respected, Dean snorted and said, “Sounds about right.”

Castiel reached one elegant hand up and pushed a curtain of wavy brown hair behind her shoulder, exposing sculpted collar bone. “It did occur to me about an hour in, while he droned on about tax deductions he was granted by city council, that I’ll have to listen to his annoying voice several times a week for six months. And eventually, I’ll have to sleep with him.”

“I don’t envy you,” Dean admitted, wincing. 

Castiel hummed in agreeance. 

They stared at each other and Dean knew he should ask what she was doing here, or how she’d found out where he lived, and why she was telling him this, but all he could do was admire how she was extraordinary colourful in the middle of his boring, monochrome brown room.

She shrugged, and then to his surprise, she asked, “Is the offer still on the table for those charity orgasms?”

To say he was surprised would have been a gross understatement. Dean’s mouth opened to reply but instead of words, a small choked noise came out. 

Castiel’s face was unreadable and controlled, but she stepped towards him slowly, like she was giving him a chance to back out, and stepped one-hundred percent into his personal space. She looked up at him with eyes that looked curious, and then two cool hands pressed against Dean’s hot face. Her fingers slid into his hair and before he could completely understand what was happening, her lips were on his, pressed firmly, but softly. 

Neither of them moved, and Dean mentally berated himself for being still, because she pulled away a moment later.

His brain chose that moment to come back to life, and he whispered, “I don’t understand?”

“I wondered,” Castiel replied simply, like that alone explained it.

Dean shook his head a bit, his face still in her hands, still perplexed.

Castiel licked her lips and she said louder, “I wondered what it would be like to give you one night, about what it would be like to say yes.”

“But,” he shrugged, “I’m sure you’ve been propositioned before. I’m sure I’m not any different than any other idiot that thought they had any kind of chance with you.”

Her broad shoulders shrugged and her lips looked like they might smile. “Maybe we have some sort of profound bond.”

Dean grinned and was rewarded with a small smile from her. “You just liked the idea no-obligation orgasms, didn’t you?”

She nodded, squinting her eyes a bit. “Am I that obvious?”

Yup, she was funny. She was funny in her own awkward, dry way. Dean laughed, tipping his head back a bit, his pointy canines peeking out.

“It’s all right. I’ll pretend you were drawn to me because of the spark between us, and I’ll pretend that connection we forged in your service rooms is inescapable.” He looked back down at her, a grin lingering on his mouth. “I’ll also pretend I didn’t eavesdrop that the Duke’s breath smells like tuna and that you have a thing for my, uh, assets.”

“Let’s stick with that,” she murmured against his lips, then captured them again, this time sending pleasurable waves down between his legs and giddy feelings to his heart as the tip of her tongue brushed against his lips. He granted her permission to enter, parting his lips a bit, returning the gesture softly. He still hadn’t touched her, but her hands were sliding through his hair and down his neck, coming to a stop on his shoulders, where she gripped tightly. 

They broke their kiss and Castiel stepped back. Dean watched her lips, noticing that her lipstick was a bit smudged, and imagined that his own lips were probably smeared with a shadow of plum and pinks. He reached up and rubbed at his mouth with the back of his wrist as Castiel turned away and walked back towards the door, sliding her coat off her shoulders and hanging it up on the coat rack.

She spun around and her waves swung around her shoulders, swaying to a stop against her collarbone, cascading down her front so the ends brushed her waist. Dean immediately became particularly fond of one curl that framed the side of her face. 

She stood on the far side of the room while he stayed near the window, and they stared at each other. A real tension, a feeling of welcome anticipation hung heavily in the air between them, following the understanding that she’d come here for an experience he’d advertised to her.

_“And you wouldn’t have wondered what it could have been like if you just gave me one night to make you feel taken care of? Pleasured unselfishly? Given an earth-shattering couple of orgasms?... When was the last time you had sex for you and not because it made Balthazar a pretty penny... I can show you a good time without holding money over your head and making it about me.”_

“So you’ve come here for sex?” Dean asked, clarifying, hoping that he hadn’t again grossly misread the situation. They didn’t need another night like Thursday night.

Castiel looked hesitant for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes. Did I misunderstand what you were offering me? This is what you meant by ‘a good time’?”

“Yes,” Dean nodded, purposely leaving out the fact that he had a massive crush on her. His eyes darted around the room. “Although a bit of warning would have been appreciated. My place is a disaster. It-It doesn’t always look like this—”

Castiel breathed out a small huff of amusement, her own eyes darting around to the mess in his apartment. “You’re lying. It’s always like this, isn’t it?”

A breeze rolled some papers off his desk, sending them fluttering to the floor. Dean sighed. “Yes.”

“The cleanliness of your room isn’t of import,” she pointed out, pinning her intense gaze on him again. “Now, I’ve come here because I’m attracted to you. What you said to me on Thursday was intriguing and I’ve decided to entertain your proposal: one night.” She visibly swallowed and lifted her chin. “Now you’d better make this worth it for me or I’m charging you for my time.”

Dean felt the corners of his lips tug up into a smile and his heart beat faster, his stomach fluttering nervously at the same time. He couldn't believe Heaven’s Angel of Thursday was in his bedroom, wanting him, asking him to make love to her. Well, no, not make love, to fuck. He was having trouble processing the information.

Still, he felt a rush of adrenaline, a surge of excitement. He stepped towards her, slowly walking across his apartment to meet up with her. Dean licked his lips and said quietly, his voice low, “I’ll accept those terms. Give me a few hours and you can decide whether I was worth it.”

“You promised at least a couple orgasms,” Castiel replied, her one brow twitching upwards. “I expect them to be good. Only two people on this earth have managed to give me real pleasure, so the bar has been set high, Winchester.”

Dean slid his hands into his pockets, snorting. “So you fake it with everyone else?”

She backed up as he walked towards her, though she didn’t break his gaze. Castiel tilted her head a bit, eyes flashing. “Yes, but don’t expect me to fake it tonight. You’re not a paying customer.”

“No,” Dean murmured. “I’m not.”

***

Castiel stepped back, her back hitting his door as Dean slowly walked towards her. She wasn’t frightened, she was just curious as he stopped in front of her, trapping her against the door with his mere presence. His eyes were fixed on her face, a small, crooked smile on his lips. He wasn’t pinning her there physically; his hands were held loosely at his side, pulled out of his pockets, but she felt glued to the door, waiting on bated breath to see what he was going to do, to hear his wishes for their time together. She watched his tongue flicker out over his bottom lip and noticed his eyes sweeping across her face. The light from a lamp behind him caused the tips of his hair to look like they shone golden, giving him a warm and inviting look. 

She tilted her head at him.

“How do you want to do this?” she whispered, her eyes gazing at his face, watching his green eyes dilate and darken. 

He didn’t immediately answer her, so Castiel’s lips turned down into a frown, the silence long enough for her to begin to repeat, “How do you want—” before his hands were sliding up her jawline and raking into her hair. His fingers slid across her temples and fingernails down the side of her neck. 

Dean captured her lips in his, a small moan escaping his throat. She also found herself involuntarily whimpering as his lips slotted against hers perfectly, his teeth gently pulling at her bottom lip playfully for a moment before his kiss regained air of passion. 

Against her will, her body arched forward the slightest bit, her nipples brushing the material of his suspenders and Castiel felt a warm, pleasurable tightening between her legs at the feeling of her nipples hardening. The way he was kissing her didn’t help either, with low rumblings in his throat that vibrated against her lips, and hands so warm and gentle on her skin. His tongue brushed against her lips, nudging forward into her mouth. While she wanted to play hard to get, while she wanted to pretend she was doing this poor boy a favour by entertaining his offer, she couldn’t very well pretend to herself that he wasn’t stunning and that the mere thought of his cock inside her didn’t make her hot and wet instantly.

He smelled like cigars and leather. She inhaled deeply. Her fingers dug into the wood of the door behind her back.

His hands trailed down her neck as they deepened the kiss, their heads tilting, their noses brushing and teeth dragging across each other’s lips sensually. His hands slid over her shoulders and down her arms, raising goosebumps on her skin. One hand rested on the silk of her dress at her waist, while the other pulled off of her for the briefest of moments. The loss of contact left the feeling of his handprint tingling on her skin, before it was pushing her hair back over her shoulder, clearing a path for his lips as they dragged across her collar bone. His teeth nipped at her and the tip of his tongue dragged up her neck, stopping just under her ear, where his hot breath danced over her skin.

Just as his lips locked down on the spot she loved under her ear, Castiel felt the hot, tightening feeling in her pussy and the dull, aching pulse begin as her imagination ran wild with all the things she wished for this man to do to her. It took restraint to hold back the long moan that sat on the tip of her tongue, wanting to be free.

She wanted to arch under his hands and moan for him, but she was stubborn, damn it. He was just so _cocky,_ she didn’t want him to know how badly she wanted this too. He’d begged her to come back here, and she’d put up such a fight to convince him she didn’t have time for a roll in the sack with him. It would hurt her pride to give in so easily...

But god, was she ever close to letting go of pride and begging him to let her come around his cock.

The plea was almost there, almost past her lips, when Dean kissed down in the space between her breasts, his hands trailing so softly over them that he hardly touched them, his fingers brushing over her nipples like whispers. Immediately, her nipples tightened and hardened again, rising in small, firm peaks through the thin blue satin of her evening dress. 

_Traitors_ , she thought, while also nearly arching into the touch, greedy for him to touch them again, to rip the straps off her shoulders, to expose her breasts and wrap his mouth around her taut nipples. Her eyes nearly rolled back at the mere thought of that hot mouth sucking on the tight buds and his warm, smooth tongue licking and flicking…

She didn’t even realise her eyes were still closed until she heard two thumps. Her eyes snapped open and she found that he wasn’t standing in front of her anymore. Dean Winchester had dropped to his knees before her and Castiel wondered if he’d read her mind, seen her dirty imaginings of his mouth all red and glistening, those handsome lips swollen and used.

She swallowed and stared down at him. The bastard looked up at her with amusement, green eyes glancing at each hard nipple in turn before they returned to her face. Those smarmy canines glistened in the dim light of his room, the crooked, smug smile on his face making her simultaneously annoyed and aroused. She narrowed her eyes at him, which only encouraged him more, egging on his smile that widened. 

He was unfairly handsome. He kneeled down in front of her, his hands dragging up her ankles slowly, and she really couldn’t help but imagine what his face would look like between her legs. Oh, just the very image of those big emerald eyes peering up at her through thick blonde lashes had her thighs trembling a bit, the dull pulse between her legs strengthening.

The tenting in his pants and the decently sized cock outlined between his legs didn’t help her either.

“What are you doing?” she asked, irritated to note that her voice was more raspy than usual, the hoarseness in her throat only making her sound like the turned-on puddle of hot arousal that she felt like.

“Listen…” Dean’s eyes turned down, dragging along her body until his gaze was in line with his wandering hands, which slid under her dress. His fingers dragged up her legs so gently that she wanted to scream. “I said we should be lovers and you said no. So, shut up and let me convince you otherwise. Let me convince you that a repeat visit might be in your future.”

“You’re a fool,” she retorted, but there was a small hitch at the end of her sentence when his big, warm hands slid farther and farther up her skirt, hands on her legs, pulling up the material. He was getting closer and closer to where she so desperately wanted to be touched. The thought of his fingers sliding up into her, slick and slow, was making it hard to breathe normally. 

It had been so long since someone touched her like this instead of having her touch them instead. It had been so long since she’d done this for free, for fun, for herself.

“We should be lovers,” Dean whispered, eyes flickering up to her as she accidentally released a whimper. It hadn’t been her fault; his hands were up her thighs now and she couldn’t handle being touched on her thighs. Again, her nails dug into the wood of the door.

With a wicked grin, he curled a hand behind one of her knees and lifted her leg, hooking and resting it on his stocky shoulder. 

She licked her lips and choked out, “We can’t do that. We—”

Whatever words she’d planned on saying became lost in a desperate gasp as Dean pushed her dress up the last few inches and ducked his head forward, the flat of his tongue dragging across her clit. 

Oh, dear God. The very touch of his tongue sent tingles up her spine and she felt herself gush slightly, hot and with a flutter that left a curse word bubbling in her throat. 

He did it again. And again. His laps were short at first, testing the waters. His eyes flickered up to her and Castiel realised that the small bursts of noises she was hearing vaguely in the distance were actually coming from her. She was panting. Her breath kept hitching softly, and her tongue swiped out to wet her lips. 

Sufficiently encouraged, Dean chuckled and used one hand to lift her thigh up a bit more, keeping her thin, satin dress bunched in his hand and off to the side. He pulled back just for a moment to look at her wet, glistening pussy before he dove in again. 

He shifted lower onto his knees a bit to get a better angle to eat her out like he’d been starved for it. His lips latched around her clit, sucking and groaning, sending vibrations up into her very core and Castiel couldn’t help but tilt her head back against the door, breathing heavily, her teeth biting down on her lip to hold back a groan.

She had to hold back a scream when the smarmy devil dragged his tongue through her swollen lips, dipping the tip into her, fucking her softly. 

_Fuck_ , she couldn’t hold back anymore. Castiel wrenched her hands away from the door and fumbled with the thin, spaghetti straps of her dress, ripping them off her shoulders. She dragged her nails over her own skin, twisting at her nipples and arching back off the door, a moan tearing from her throat.

The pressure and pleasure kept building between her legs as Dean moaned and growled against her pussy, his tongue working her open, flicking and rolling in circles around her clit more hungrily, more insistently. His fingers flexed around the bunch of satin in his hand and the palm curled around her thigh slid over her skin, massaging and squeezing. His eyes, just as erotic as she imagined, looking up at her through his lashes, flickered up to her face and she understood very quickly that he was getting off on this just as much as she was. 

He must have known she was close, he must have felt her pussy flutter and pulse around the tip of his tongue as he pushed it deep inside her, because he released her thigh, reached up and yanked away one of her hands away from her nipple, replacing it with his, rubbing and twirling it in between his thumb and middle finger. 

Her one hand, now free to do what it pleased, made it just in time—cupping the back of his head, pushing his face into her hot, wet pussy—for her to come.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” she rasped, head tilted back, chest heaving, her pussy gushing warm liquid over his lips in bursts. She came even harder, imagining it dripping over his chin and down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. It was tempting to ride out her orgasm with her eyes rolled back, but she tilted her head forward, brown curls slipping over her shoulder, watching him as she rocked back and forth on his lips, using his mouth to get off. 

Dean was still sucking on her, moaning happily, his brows knitted together in concentration. 

Her gasps settled down and her breathing became more shallow. She let her hand drop away from his head and her thigh slid off his shoulder. Dean dragged his tongue one last time through her swollen, slick pussy before he sat back on his heels and let her dress tumble down her legs, the fabric swishing by her feet.

Lips, chin, and neck dripping and glistening, Dean grinned at her. 

Castiel’s legs trembled and she let herself slid down the door, sitting on the floor in front of him, their legs intertwined. Dean leaned forward and kissed her on the lips deeply, pulling back an inch after she sighed. Swallowing hard, Castiel licked her lips, releasing a long, shaking breath. She could taste herself on them.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” she whispered.

Dean frowned. “What?”

“That’s what Celeste should say to Daniel,” Castiel gulped down a breath, “in your scene.”

“Is that what you were thinking about?” he asked, his tone thick with a bubbling laugh. “The entire time my mouth was on you, you were thinking about that? Do you so desperately want a co-writing credit?”

“No,” she shook her head, still breathless. “I just thought of it. I...I feel inspired.”

They looked at each other, then laughed, recalling the last time they spoke about feeling ‘inspired’.

“I’m glad I could inspire you then. I’ll make sure to note,” he breathed against her lips, “that to get the creative juices flowing, I just had to lick away at the cold exterior, it seems.”

“You haven’t done nearly enough licking yet,” Castiel replied, searching Dean’s eyes, noting the mischievous glint in them. 

“I’ll have to keep trying then,” Dean laughed, low and deep. “Am I safe to assume you won’t be charging me for your time tonight?”

Castiel tilted her head back, resting it on the door. In a sigh, she whispered, “You’re going to be bad for business,” She tilted her head down and leaned forward, half an inch away from his lips. “I can tell.”

“Bad for business?” Dean echoed, cocking his head. “Does that… Ms. Grace, does that meant you’ll be returning for more?”

His cheekiness made the butterflies in her stomach go wild, especially when he grinned and those pointy little incisors teased her. “You are unexpectedly talented with your mouth, Dean. I may have to stay a bit longer tonight to determine if you’re worth another visit. Besides,” she whispered, her lips brushing his, “that was one orgasm, I specifically remember being offered two.”

Dean reached forward and cupped the back of her head. When he grinned, she felt it against her lips. He kissed her, cradling her head, guiding their movements as their lips slipped against each others and tongues brushed. His arm snaked around her waist and Castiel yelped against his lips when he yanked her onto his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. When he got to his feet, his big hand was on her thighs, holding her in the air, wrapped around his body. He only let her go to lay her on the bed.

They broke their kiss to stare at each other. Castiel lay panting on the bed while Dean kneeled on the floor, his lips smudged with lipstick, his eyes dark with lust. He undressed her with his eyes before he physically undressed her, shaking fingers pulling the thin straps off her shoulders slowly. The dress puddled around her waist and hips as he tugged the material off just enough to get access, one strap still around her arm.

He was careful not to leave any love marks on her skin, but he got lipstick all over her chest and breasts. Lipstick trailed down her arms and on the inside of her thighs. When he brushed a thumb over her lips, he got lipstick on his hands and left faint fingerprints behind on her knees when he pushed her legs apart wide and fucked her with his tongue.

The second orgasm came swiftly, and just as powerfully as the first. He had been telling the truth: he was a giver, he was thoughtful with how he touched her, and he was unselfish. He took his time giving her a third orgasm, and a fourth with his fingers while his mouth licked deliberate circles and stripes across her nipples. 

When she became a puddle of limbs, when all she could do was lay there, panting, too sensitive and overwhelmed, he lifted himself off the floor and leaned over her. He kissed her, fingers gentle on her face, brushing over her shoulders, arms, up her neck and jawline. He pushed damp curls from her face and didn’t demand or take a single thing from her.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t seem to be making any move to ask anything of her, seemingly content to attend to her needs. 

Castiel rolled him onto his back and felt her instincts take over, her movements modeled after the hundreds of times she’d done this with her clients. She slipped her hand under his waistband and stroked him with enthusiasm, biting her lip and making eyes at him, falling into her routine, slipping into her act without realising it. She moaned as she undid his shirt and pressed kisses to his chest after each button came undone. She winked at him when her mouth left a lipstick mark atop the light trail of blonde hair disappearing under his waistband. It was only when he reached up and to cup her face and still her hand with his, that she realised he knew. He knew she was replaying the same actions she did with everyone else. 

They stared at each other. His intense eyes glittered with lust and something like appreciation. Still, the message in his gaze was clear: _I’m not paying you, I’m not a paying customer._ And he broke the tension by sitting up and wrapping his arm around her, tugging her close to him and onto his lap. Their breath puffed across each other’s lips as they stared at each other, only inches away from kissing again. 

There was a formula to her interactions with her clients. There were steps she took, movements she always made. She angled herself to always look attractive, and moaned even when she wasn’t receiving any pleasure. There was a sequence of sexual acts that she performed on them. 

Dean had already destroyed that, spending an hour carefully undoing her routine by ensuring that she felt pleasure. He did things even if they didn’t look sexy. He spread her legs wide and didn’t seem to care if her feet were pointed or if a position wasn’t flattering. He didn’t demand she take off all of her clothing. Hell, her dress was bunched up around her waist still, one arm still half-caught in the strap. He didn’t care that they were both covered in lipstick and that her porcelain doll, angelic persona was shattered the first time she came against his face in spurts, drenching his clothing. 

And now, seated on the edge of the bed, he held her tightly in his lap, staring at her face, eyes drinking in her features. He didn’t grope stupidly at her breasts, not like the other idiots that paid to sleep with her and clearly hadn’t fucked anyone for free in years. He touched her everywhere and was soft when needed and firm when needed. He nipped and sucked and licked with enthusiasm.

When she reached down and slipped his cock inside her, he groaned and rested his forehead against her shoulder. When she slid down his cock, shuddering and jerking against the sensation for a moment, he held her tightly, hands splayed across her back, fingers gripping at her dress. When she slowly rose, then sunk back down around him, breath hitching as his delightfully thick cock filled her, Dean breathed her name against the base of her neck, kissing a trail up her neck and jaw, coming to a stop at her lips. When his tongue slipped into her mouth and teeth tugged at her lips, his hips pushing his cock deep inside her and his fingers found themselves brushing over her nipples, it was decided: 

He was definitely going to be bad for business.


	6. The Rules

A month had passed since that first night with Castiel.

Within that month, quite a few things happened. Specifically, fifteen rehearsals, twelve new scenes, eleven late night visits, four noise complaints from Dean’s neighbours, and twenty-four of Castiel’s delightful orgasms, seven of which were very aggressive and wet; wet, but incredibly hot and very welcome.

Castiel also reminded him four times that they were ‘not making love’, she’d left four pairs of underwear behind in Dean’s apartment, and she’d gone on seven more dinners with the Duke.

She had slept with the Duke exactly zero times, but Dean wasn’t counting.

The play itself was coming together rather nicely. The first week and a half had involved read-throughs with interested cast members, though no one had their roles set in stone. Secretly, Castiel and Sam were the only ones who had any assurance of their parts, though everyone else rotated through parts in the read-throughs as part of ‘auditions’ as Balthazar claimed.

Near the end of the third week, Balthazar made an announcement that the cast had been determined. Angels and crew gathered around for the announcement, some whooping and hollering with excitement when their names were called. Castiel was Celeste, Sam got the role of Daniel, Gadreel would play Shaun, and Balthazar had cast himself as Zyon. Robbie would be played by a fellow named Cain, Anael would be played by Anna, and the Lilith role belonged to Rachel. Even little Claire was given a small role to play.

When her name was called, the small child looked at Jody with shock and glee, her eyes shining. She wriggled her hand out of Jody’s grasp and pushed her way through the crowd. Dean should’ve been paying attention to the rest of the cast list, but he watched the little girl shove her way to Castiel, who leaned down and squished the little excited face.

“Ms. Castiel, did you hear?” she asked shyly. “I have a part!”

“You do, Claire-bear, I heard.” Castiel’s thumb brushed the little girl’s face and Dean tried not to stare, but his heart did a little flip at Castiel’s genuine, big crooked smile. He’d never seen it before. He watched her kneel on the floor in front of the small girl and rest her hands on her shoulders, planting a kiss to the child’s forehead. “You’re a real actress now. Are you excited?”

“Will I get my own dressing room like you?” the child whispered, staring into Castiel’s eyes intensely.

Hannah and Castiel exchanged looks, then Castiel brushed Claire’s hair behind her shoulder and brushed her nose with her finger. “I don’t think so, cherub. But would you like to share mine? I can speak to Balthazar about having your name put on the door, too.”

The little girl looked like she had actual stars in her eyes when she nodded, looking shocked with joy at the turn of events. Castiel whispered something to her and then picked her up, settling the girl on her hip as they both turned back to watch Balthazar finish reading off the cast list.

Almost everyone was happy with their roles, big or small, though there were a few who were obviously bitter.

Meg was one of them.

“Odd,” she sneered in front of everyone, breaking the excited murmurs of the crowd, “that we all had to read different lines to assess suitability, yet Cas was always reading Celeste and the writer’s brother was always reading for Daniel?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her scrutinizing gaze fixed on Balthazar while her eyebrow raised accusingly. “Just odd.”

“You get to play the Masters demon, and you’re the understudy for Celeste, Megarah,” Balthazar said carefully, his tone warning. “That is an important role, it is not one to dismiss casually. Should Castiel be unable to perform, it is up to y—”

“Whatever,” Meg said, exiting the crowd, shaking her head and waving her hand flippantly at Balthazar.

Dean watched Castiel’s face. While he could only see the side of it from where he stood, she looked worried, turning towards her friend, which Dean now knew was named Hannah. The girls whispered to each other, and Hannah’s arm came around Castiel’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

“Quit staring at her,” Dean heard Sam’s voice in his ear, half-serious, half-teasing. Dean glanced up at his brother, who was grinning at him. Sam nodded in Castiel’s direction. “You’ll burn a hole through her skull with the way you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Dean murmured, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest, glancing quickly at Castiel before returning to Balthazar.

Balthazar announced a renovation that would take a month or so, which caused somewhat of a stir. It meant that there would be no more nightly performances, save for the Thursday to come, and there was a murmur through the crowd, angels whispering to each other about loss of income for that month. Their worries were quickly put to rest when Zachariah stepped in, announcing that he would be covering everyone’s average monthly earnings until the stage renovations were complete.

Dean looked around, watching the Duke’s approval rating soar among the angels of Heaven. He might’ve felt the same way if he hadn’t heard the way the man had spoken to Castiel last week. Dean scowled at him through the applause from the angels. He scowled even harder when he noticed Castiel wink and give the Duke a little wave from the crowd. The pompous idiot on stage stood up taller and smirked back at her.

“Stop staring at the Duke like that,” Sam whispered in his ear. “He’ll burst into flames.”

Dean shifted his weight and swung an elbow back, getting his brother in the ribs. “Shut up, bitch.”

Sam moaned and Dean heard him rub at his ribs. “Watch the merchandise, Dean! You’re dealing with a lead actor now.”

Dean turned a bit and was met with Sam’s shit-eating grin. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see how well you do playing _me_ in a play.”

Sam snorted and gestured up to the stage. “It’ll be easy-peasy, Dean. I’ll just have to grunt a lot, flirt with every character who isn’t interested in me, have bad taste in music, and cry every other scene—OW!”

“There you go. Another bruise to match the first, actor boy.”

Sam rubbed at his ribs. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

***

“So what exactly is Meg’s problem?” Dean asked, shifting in the bathtub and arranging his legs so that they were slotted easier along Castiel’s.

Castiel’s eyes flickered up to him, pausing as she poured more white wine into Dean’s glass. She didn’t answer him at first, instead acknowledging his question with a short hum. Once his glass was full, she set the bottle on the sink by the tub and picked up her own glass.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tipping her glass against her lips, a bead of sweat from the steam rolling down her temple.

If the patrons of Heaven thought Castiel looked unfairly stunning under stage lights, her eyes bright among diamonds and glitter, they had no idea what they were missing when she was naked, her skin shining from the steam curling up from the hot bubble bath. She was unfairly stunning with no makeup on, a flush across her face, and the hairs falling from her messy ponytail all curled and damp from the humidity. Dean felt like a sopping wet rat, sitting across from her in the small, cramped tub. Despite feeling like that, Castiel’s eyes still dragged across his chest and arms, then up to his face, her eyes scrutinizing, her lips struggling not to curl into a smile against the edge of her wine glass. Dean attempted not to ogle at her, and instead focused on watching a clump of bubbles slide down the stem of her wine glass and plunk down into the water.

“Meg seemed upset with Balthazar’s casting choices the other day.”

“Right,” she said before she sipped from her glass. She swallowed and licked her lips. “Meg can seem abrasive.”

“No kidding,” Dean snorted. “She kind of seems like a handful to me.”

Cas looked sidelong at Dean with a quick look of disapproval. “She has a temper, but she’s a good person. She is merely frustrated with her situation sometimes. I think she wants to be more than an angel, but she loves her job too much at the same time. Meg is conflicted; she wants to sleep with everyone, but she wants to also evolve and move on to something that grants her more money, and attention, and fame. She’s in the right career for her desires but the wrong career for her dreams.”

Dean scowled. “Why are you friends with her? She seemed, I dunno, upset with you too. She hardly seemed happy to be your understudy.”

Castiel shrugged, making the water rock gently around her shoulders. She set her glass on the rickety table Dean had set on her end and she traced the rim of the glass with her pruny finger. Her eyes followed her finger as she contemplated, “Balthazar jokes that she’s not an angel, but a demon, a creature of the underworld. I think she was hoping to have a bigger part in the play. She knew I would be cast as Celeste but I think it stung that she’d be cast as my backup. She...adores me and is jealous at the same time.”

“She won't treat you poorly now, will she?” Dean asked.

Castiel snorted, and released her glass, using her damp fingers to pull a curl away from her face. “Hardly. After her outburst the other day, she came to find me only an hour later. It was nothing but hugs and congratulations from her.”

Dean recalled what he’d heard about Meg and Castiel, and he asked hesitantly, “Is she, um, y’know, still in love with you, d’you think?”

Castiel’s head jerked towards Dean and he was surprised to see shock in her face. “How do you know about that?”

Not wanting to get Charlie or the others in trouble, Dean shrugged. “A birdie told me.”

Castiel rolled her eyes, looking peeved. “Of course. Secrets are never safe within those walls, I have to say.” She rubbed her lips and admitted with a sigh, “Yes, Meg is still in love with me. I do try to discourage her, but she hasn’t let me go. There’s a reason we are no longer together, and mainly it was because she wanted me more than I wanted her. And she was jealous. Horribly jealous. It was too much.”

“She didn’t like you seeing other people?” he asked.

A strange look crossed Castiel’s face, but it was gone quickly and her blue eyes flickered over to Dean. “She was envious of clients. It is a poor decision to fall in love with a woman who sells her body, Dean. Especially if you are the jealous type.”

They held a stare.

Dean knew what she was trying to say. He knew that she was trying to drop a hint, more subtle now than she had been earlier, when she’d repeatedly reminded him that they were not “making love”, they were “fucking”.

Castiel broke the stare first, since Dean refused to back down. He was falling for her, yes, but he could handle himself. He didn’t need to be reminded by everyone about how unattainable Castiel was.

She picked up her glass and drank deeply, turning her cobalt gaze over to his bed as she avoided his eyes.

“So,” he asked playfully, his lips spreading into a wolfish grin as he settled back against the tub, “you do this—the tub, the win, the bubbles—with everyone you sleep with?”

Castiel rolled her eyes. “I’ve never done this for free, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Mean girl,” Dean teased. But his heart did drop a bit, disheartened that he hadn’t shown her a new experience. “Ah, well. Sorry I’m predictable.”

Castiel snorted and set her glass down on a rickety table beside the tub. “I have many words that I could use to describe you, Dean Winchester, but predictable is not one.” She leaned back, resting her head on the porcelain, the tips of her brown flyaways dipping into the water, curling on the surface. “Usually, I’m in a bubble bath with a man twice my age, whose testicles float and who doesn’t try to make me laugh with a beard made of bubbles.”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten he’d done that. Dean reached up, breaking the water’s surface, to wipe away his bubble beard. “So what do they have you do?”

“It’s quite boring,” Castiel replied, shrugging, the bubbles jiggling around her shoulders. “I laugh at their jokes that I don’t understand...or perhaps they’re just not very funny.” She made a thoughtful noise, then sighed, tipping her head back against the porcelain edge. “I rub their feet and compliment them until they grow tired of hearing me speak. That’s when… well, you know.” She trailed off, running her tongue over her bottom lips and shrugging again.

Dean nudged her in the rib with his toe and smirked. “Wow, Cas, that sounds really boring.”

“It is,” she agreed.

Dean sat up. “Let’s do something different then. How about I rub your feet instead and rather than you showering me in compliments, you insult me to your heart's content.”

To his surprise, she tipped her head back and laughed. The raspy, happy sound made Dean’s heart flip flop. She tipped her head back down, level, a gummy grin on her face, her eyes twinkling.

“You don’t have to laugh at my crappy jokes either,” Dean added.

“No, I know I don’t have to,” she replied, swatting away a wet curl from her vision, “but I will laugh at your funny ones.” Then she paused, licking her lips again. A frown turned her lips down and her brows knitted together. “You want me to insult you until you wish to lay with me?”

“Such formal language. You’re a real lady after all.”

Seemingly against her will, Castiel smirked. “You’re a twit.”

Dean grinned, feeling around the tub. He found her foot and pulled it into his lap. Kneading into the pruny skin, he nodded and said jokingly, “There you go. Keep ‘em coming. Feels good, huh?”

“You’re also infuriating. And silly. And your legs are bowed. And...and you have too many freckles.”

A surprised bark of laughter bubbled in Dean’s chest and he asked, “What?! Have you been counting them or what?”

“Maybe,” Castiel replied simply.

Dean shook his head. He grabbed a slippery bar of soap and ran it over her feet and legs. “You cut me with your words about my legs.”

“Don’t be hurt,” she replied. “I rather enjoy your legs. Almost as much as I enjoy what’s between them.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this the part where we ‘lay together’?”

Castiel’s face was blank but her eyes were lustful. “Lay together. Stand together. Whatever you wish.”

A silence hung between them. Dean stared at her and understood this wasn’t the first time she’d uttered those three words to a man, but he wanted things to be different with him. Dean swallowed hard and then replied, “You choose.”

Her lips parted and he saw the gears turning in her head as she tried to come up with words. Then, with a tilt of her head, she asked suspiciously, “Me?”

“No,” Dean said, pointing over her shoulder at nothing, “the other hot brunette in the bath with us.”

For a split second, she looked like she was going to turn her head to follow him and she even said, “There’s no other…” before she realised what he meant and she swallowed hard as well, eyes a bit wide. “I see,” she said slowly. “Well, then perhaps…”

Dean felt himself get hard underwater as he noticed her hands grip either edge of the tub and her nipples harden.

Her tongue swiped out, wetting dry, plump lips, and her blue eyes danced over the contours of Dean’s mouth.

“Perhaps we find out how long you can hold your breath?”

Dean was confused for a moment, but then the water sloshed and buckled as Castiel’s legs spread, her knees creating a parting through the bubbles. A devious grin spread over Dean’s lips, and he added to the disturbance of the bubbles as he shifted through them, pulling his legs back and under as he crawled towards her.

By the time he crawled between her legs, his shoulders glistening, bubbles sliding over his arms, Castiel was already breathing shallowly, her lips parted, her eyes dark with lust. A high, sharp breath sounded from her throat, escaping her lips as Dean parted her legs further, and slid his tongue over her collarbone and up her sweat-slick neck, sucking on the soft, sensitive spot just at the curve where her shoulder and neck met.

Cas’ chest rose and fell quickly, her breath picking up as the flat of his tongue dragged over her nipples, his chin dipping underwater and bubbles sloshing around his lips. She tasted like soap and perfume, her breath like sweet wine as it puffed out past her glistening lips.

Dean flashed a quick, naughty smile at her before he took a deep breath and disappeared underwater.

Castiel’s hands slipped as she grasped at the tub’s edges again, bucking as hot lips locked around her clitoris and sucked. Her legs spread, her feet hanging off the side of the tub, toes curling as Dean’s tongue slid through her pussy, dipping in before alternating back to her clit, flicking firmly.

Dean broke the up through the surface of the water, gasping, blinking. Then he grinned. “Forty-three seconds.”

Castiel was panting, her chest red and glistening. “Give me approximately another thirty-eight seconds and I’ll come.”

“That quickly?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked annoyed. “Would you like me to drag this out so you’ll drown, or—”

Dean waved a hand at her. “Never mind, never mind.”

“Hold your breath,” she commanded through her aroused panting. When Dean inhaled deeply, his cheeks puffed out, Castiel’s hand pushed his head under the water, painted nails gripped in his hair.

Twenty-eight seconds later, Castiel was coming with a cry, glistening body arching up through the surface of the water, bubbles sliding over her breasts and down her sternum, steam urging beads of sweat to tumble down her face. Her body jerked and she released a series of shuddered groans, her entire body shaking. Dean felt her pussy convulsing around the tip of his tongue, his thumb slipping over her clit as she shook aggressively.

He came back up through the water with another gasp for air, though he caught his breath with a victorious grin spread across his face.

“F...Fuck,” Castiel choked out, her eyes still rolling a bit as she was dragged through the residual aftershocks of orgasm.

Dean gripped either side of the tub and lifted himself out, uncaring about the bubbles and puddles he created on his floor. He grabbed a towel and threw it down, turning back to the tub with purpose. Castiel yelped as she was lifted out of the tub, but groaned as she was laid down on the towel. Dean didn’t waste any time reaching over her and yanking open a drawer under his sink. He pulled out a tube of lubricant that he kept for his personal use, and kicked open the lid against the edge of the sink.

Castiel watched up from the floor, her chest heaving and patchy, her wet curls loose from her messy bun, strands sticking to her face and tumbling over the floor, clinging to the towel and snaking over her shoulders.

Dean squeezed the tube, watching thick, clear lubricant ooze over his fingers, before he threw it aside and spread the stuff over Castiel’s pussy, spreading her lips to smear lubricant over her clit, rubbing firmly, then softly. The leftover aided his hand as it pumped at his hard cock, already leaking pre-come over her pubic bone, dripping into dark, damp curls. Dean’s hand jerked over his cock, making quick, slick sounds over his panting, as he watched Castiel reach down and swirl three fingers over her clit. He watched red painted nails flick and pinch, being driven mad at the sight. He nearly came all over her just at the sight of her fingers curling down between glistening, pink, swollen lips and disappearing inside her.

She fucked herself for only a few jerks of her wrist, her breath puncturing the air as she moaned and inhaled sharply, her blue eyes glassy and glazed as she brought herself closer to orgasm.

“Dean,” she breathed, curling her fingers, her thumb brushing over her clit, the beautiful little nub swollen and a deep pink under her ministrations. “Dean…  _Dean_.”

The dripping head of his cock pushed against the slick, swollen pussy, and Castiel’s fingers immediately moved out of the way, grasping blindly at him until they found his shaft and pulled him in.

Tight, pulsing wetness shuddered around Dean’s cock, sending waves of heat and pressure up through his cock and up into his lower abdomen, every squeeze of her muscles making his balls tighten.

Dean pushed in, his eyes nearly rolling back as he was engulfed by a welcome heat, his mind drowning in thought of her, and her wet smooth body, and hard nipples, her plump lips, and pink tongue. He thought of nothing else but her fingernails dragging over his skin and her hips as they rose off the floor. He thought of not any other thing than her hips that snapped down onto his cock, her stomach flexing and curling as she fucked him. Her shoulders were pressed into the ground, her hands gripping at his thighs as she used them for leverage. Dean was lost as he watched her body slid down over his cock, the lube mixed with Castiel’s wetness. And Dean was even more lost when he saw her pussy contract around his cock and she pulled away, coming with a scream, and a ridiculously hot gush of liquid that splashed over his stomach and cock. It dribbled down his legs and hips.

Dean gulped down a scream when she lowered her twitching hips back down, and elegant hands with painted red nails directed his cock back inside her. She began to move her hips again in that frantic, hungry way, snapping them down then back up, taking his entire length like it wasn’t a problem, her pussy stretched around him. She made sounds that he couldn’t believe were real; beautiful, wild, unfiltered sounds of pleasure. Sometimes her mouth moved silently, broken words pouring from her mouth that looked like, “oh, God”, and “yes”, and “please, please, _please_ —”.

Dean dropped down onto his elbows on top of her, taking over by wrapping one arm around her waist, lifting her light body off the ground, his other hand cupping her face as he curled his spine and met her lips with his, capturing them, claiming her—

“You’re perfect,” he breathed into her mouth, teeth dragging over her lips. She didn’t respond, but whimpered as he slowed their pace, his hips pulling back almost enough to leave her empty and wanting, before he pushed back into her, swallowed up in heat, filling her up.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he choked out, dragging his hand down her face, then neck, and over her shoulder and arms. He found her hand as he fucked into her slowly, and pulled it up by their faces, their fingers tangled, their hands linked desperately.

“You’re going to make me come again,” she rasped, her eyes so glassy he thought she might cry, her legs trembling as they spread for him, her feet slipping over the wet floor.

“You’re exquisite,” he panted against her face, his teeth dragging over her jawline as she arched her back and tipped her head.

She whimpered again, her hard nipples brushing his, her hips wriggling under his as he felt her pussy clench around his cock, her breath puncturing out sharply with every slow drag of his cock pushing in and out of her.

“I’m gonna come,” she sobbed, and he grinned as he felt her hand squeeze his. "I-I’m—”

“Perfect,” he growled, before he dragged the flat of his tongue over her neck, stopping to suck on the soft patch of skin just under her jaw, by her ear.

She _was_ crying, eyes dripping tears down her temple, mingling with sweat. “Oh God, oh God, oh G _od,”_ she rasped, her voice trembling as she squeezed tighter around him, her body tensing up.

The pressure of her orgasm as it built around his cock was enough to push him over too. Dean curled his hips back and forth, fucking her deeply, their flesh clapping together, his free hand sliding up from her hip to push her leg up over his shoulder.

That’s when it happened. His orgasm rushed up through his cock, pulling his balls tightly against him, and he gasped.

“I-I lo...love y—”

The hand dragging its fingernails up over his arm quickly snapped up and Castiel clapped her hand over his mouth just in time to stop him as she came. Their eyes met were locked, blue to green as they orgasmed together, Dean pumping hot come into her as she shook around him, her shoulders jerking off the floor, and their hands squeezing.

Castiel collapsed back onto the bathroom floor, breathing roughy, tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes. The hair around her face was curly, clinging to her skin, one long strand even snaked over her face and neck.

Dean lowered her leg carefully, his body trembling, and he leaned heavily on his elbows as to not crush her.

When they both stopped trembling, Dean pulled out of her with a wince, feeling the ache in his knees and elbows, his body reminding him that he, in the future, should not force his thirty-something-year-old joints to make love on a hard bathroom floor—

Castiel shoved him off and made a noise of annoyance in her throat. “I told you not to do that!” she growled through her teeth, turning her head to glare at Dean.

Dean laid on the floor on his side, shrugging. “I don’t know what—”

“I told you,” she snapped, pulling the wet strand of hair away from her face with an irate snap of her wrist. “I will have none of that ‘love’ business. I told you we are just—”

A chuckle cut her off, and she tilted her head dangerously as Dean shrugged and grinned. “I was just gonna say ‘I love it when you cry during sex’, that’s all.”

The woman abruptly got up, yanking the towel off the floor and twisting it around her body with an angry jerk of her arms. “You’re a pig,” she retorted. “And a terrible liar.”

After getting up carefully, Dean followed her as she grumpily trudged out of the room, leaving wet footprints all over the wooden floor.

“Come on, Cas—”

“Don’t call me that!” she barked, bending down as she walked to sweep up articles of her clothing from all over the room. “I’m not a ‘Cas’, my name is Casti—”

“Okay, _Castiel,_ ” Dean amended, raising his hands placatingly. “I’m sorry. I...really am. I know you don’t like it…when I, y’know,” he added, reminding himself why he was terrible at meaningful conversations. Dean bent forward and handed over her blouse, which she took with an irate little sweep of her hand.

“I’m not in love,” he said, though he felt a weird niggling little feeling in his chest like he was flat out lying. “I just get carried away when we’re—”

She stopped, standing in the middle of his room, looking like a wet, gorgeous storm, her eyes flashing. “We are not in love, we are fucking. Charity orgasms, remember? You are a friend at most, Dean. Don’t allow yourself to become confused. I’ve made myself clear several times, I have warned you sufficiently about the reality of our arrangement, have I not?”

A heavy silence fell over them and Dean nodded. “You have.”

“Good,” she replied, pushing a handful of wild wet curls behind her ear. Her eyes softened. “Because I enjoy your company, Dean. I appreciate our time together and our…” her eyes darted behind him to the bathroom, and then darted to the bed, unmade with sheets hanging over the side. She signed, her shoulders relaxing. She gazed wistfully at Dean. “So we are clear that we are friends? With, um, certain benefits?”

Dean grinned, trying to look happy although his stomach was sinking. “Of course.”

Castiel didn’t seem convinced, and Dean wondered if she was magical, if she could read his mind, because she added with a warning, “I am the property of the Duke, Dean. You and I could never… We, um, we couldn’t ever be in love, do you understand?”

“Jeeze, Cas,” Dean laughed, shrugging and moving around the room as well, now, gathering his things to avoid her eye. “I know that. You don’t have to keep saying it, y’know? I _know_ your situation. You told me you can’t love, or won’t, or whatever. I’m just here to provide the orgasms while the Duke bores you to death for six months.”

Castiel seemed to relax more, her face softening a bit, her scowl uncurling so that she was _almost_ smiling.

“I’m glad that we are clear on our relationship, Dean,” Castiel nodded. She looked around the room, taking in the messy bed and the wine bottles, the clothing on the floor and the water leading from the bathroom.

“I will help you clean, but then I must go. I have a cabaret set to rehearse with the angels tonight, and I must bathe.”

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow, turning a bit towards the bathroom and pointing over his shoulder.

With a snort, Castiel rolled her eyes. “We hardly bathed, Dean. As a matter of fact, I would argue that we only made ourselves dirtier.”

“Hell yes, we did,” Dean chuckled as he pulled pants over his damp legs. “I suppose we could try to take a real bath this time?”

Castiel smirked, buttoning up her blouse. “As if you would ever let that happen.”

Dean’s heart warmed a bit and he laughed, his face boyish.

“You know me too well, angel.”


	7. L-O-V-E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song referred to/sung in this chapter:
> 
> 3OH!3 - STARSTRUKK (Feat. Katy Perry) Listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvf--10EYXw

Thursday marked the last cabaret show to happen at Heaven for the next month. The renovations were due to start on Friday, effectively ending the Balthazar and the angels’ proactive stream of income from erotic services for the month. So the establishment and its staff worked hard to ensure they went out with a bang.

For days Dean had been seeing advertisements for Heaven’s last night before the month-long closure, flyers glued to wooden electrical poles, And plastered across the side of buildings. The good side of town, the bad side of town. No matter where he, Sam, or their friends went, a beautiful illustration of Castiel, Meg, Hannah, Balthazar, and the other angels followed him. The ads were big and small, on billboards and in the paper. 

Dean may have ripped one of just Castiel off the building near his place, and folded it into a careful square, where it would then live in his pocket until he went home and attached it to his fridge.

All of their friends were working that night, with Balthazar insisting all hands were needed on deck. So Dean and Sam didn’t have any expectation that they would have a table, let alone a booth. They almost didn’t go, knowing that they didn’t have the clothing or the money to afford any of the mark ups that night, and knowing that there would be no room to breathe amongst the nightlife of New York that would fill that place wall-to-wall.

But as the Winchester brothers settled in for the night, drinking cheap beer on Sam’s balcony, cigarettes perched on their lips, a knock on the door would change the trajectory of their night. Sam and Dean exchanged looks, before Sam pushed off the balcony where he was leaned, and crossed his apartment.

Dean leaned over in his chair, one eyebrow arched curiously as he heard a soft, feminine voice.

Hannah stood at Sam’s door, looking up at him under heavy false lashes, her skin glittering, her lips right red. She was in full costume under a long navy coat. Her bustle was large under the coat, her corset covered in rhinestones glittering through the opening. She had feathers in her hair, and her sculpted curls formed flowers near her face. 

She was beaming up at Sam, who talked to her in hushed tones, and was beaming back, blushing. Dean grinned to himself; Sammy boy had a crush.

Hannah spotted Dean over Sam’s shoulder. She waved. 

“Oh, hello!” she said, stepping towards Dean. “Dean, isn’t that right? You’re Sam’s brother?”

He and Hannah hadn’t officially met, but they’d passed each other in rehearsals and knew to smile at each other in the hallways. 

Dean nodded, putting out his cigarette and stepping over the window frame into the apartment. He walked over to Hannah and shook her hand, smiling. 

“Good to meet you for real,” he greeted.

“Of course,” she giggled, before turning to Sam and beaming again. “I hope I’m not bothering you. But,” she held out a long, wide bag draped over her arm, “I bring gifts from Charlie.” Hannah glanced at Dean, “and Castiel.”

Dean tried not to show any reaction as his heart jumped a bit, warmth filling his stomach as he thought of Castiel giving him anything. 

“Oh?” he asked. He and Sam exchanged curious pouts.

When they looked back at the girl, she was watching Dean curiously, eyes sweeping his face, but then she nodded and held the bag out to Sam.

“Clothing for tonight, courtesy of Charlie.”

“Clothing?” Sam parroted, frowning.

Hannah’s lips curled into a small smile. “Clothing, Sam. You wear it on your body.”

“Oh, so she’s pretty _and_ funny,” Sam retorted, his lips twisted in a playful smirk.

“Obscene,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “The flirting is obscene.”

“It’s the last night before we’re shut down for a whole month!” Hannah laughed, not hearing Dean. “It’s going to be a big ol’ party! You weren’t going to miss it, were you?” And when the boys exchanged looks and nodded, Hannah shook her head and swayed playfully on the spot. “Oh, well, we won’t be having any of that! Sam, you’re the star of our play, you gotta be there! And Dean,” Hannah turned to him, gesturing elegantly with her hand toward him, “you’re our writer, our hero. It would be wrong if you weren’t treated like royalty… Besides, Castiel and I arranged to reserve you a table.”

“A table?” the Winchesters said at once.

Blue eyes twinkled under black lashes. Hannah winked at Sam. “Right up front. Any closer and you’d be right on stage, in our laps.”

Sam and Dean laughed, exchanged bewildered looks. Them? Sitting up front in such a fancy place, wearing fancy clothes that they had no right donning? It seemed preposterous and frankly, hilarious.

“We’d be so out of place,” Sam admitted, running a hand through his hand and looking at the long bag folded over his arm. “This is too much, we—”

But Hannah waved him off, shaking her head, a loose curl bouncing around the nape of her neck. 

“The suit was Charlie’s idea, and the table was mine, but—” Hannah raised a small pouch from her other hand, waving it at Dean, “—this was Castiel’s idea. Go on, take it. It’s what you’re going to pay with in return for the VIP treatment.”

Dean crossed the room and slowly reached out, letting Hannah drop the little satchel into his palm. It was heavy and made small chiming, rattling noises, like rocks sliding over each other. He was nervous for some reason as he opened the velvet, dark blue bag and peered inside.

Sam made a noise of surprise when Dean pulled a beautiful string of diamonds that shimmered brilliantly, even in Sam’s dim lighting.

“A necklace?” Dean asked, dumbfounded. “Why would Castiel give me a diamond necklace?”

“Well, you’re certainly not keeping it,” Hannah giggled, shaking her head. “It’s a prop. Usually, we use Inias or one of the lesser known angels to be the decoy, but it truly is all hands on deck tonight. We need a fluffer.” Her gloved hand pointed at the diamond dangling from Dean’s fingers gingerly. “Someone to give that to Castiel, to encourage the other patrons to give more money. How else are they going to compete with a john who can give her diamonds? The men who have interest in Castiel will always try to show each other up. They come prepared to fight for her attentions, but we need someone to kick it off.”

Dean felt a little less warm, knowing Castiel was only using him to make Heaven more money, and not that she wanted him seated in the front to watch her up close. Still, he did feel the conflicting hum of excitement in his belly at the prospect of spending another night at Heaven. Being in that environment on Thursdays was electrifying. The energy was astounding…

And Castiel was magnificent up there.

“So are you in?” Hannah asked, raising her brows at the brothers, eyes darting from one to the other. 

“Of course.” Sam nodded.

Dean accepted the bag with their suits, also nodding. “What do I have to do?”

“Sit there and look pretty,” Hannah replied back, teasing him with a wink. She turned away from them and beamed at Sam when he opened the door for her. 

Hannah was almost out into the door when she turned back around, smiling. She pointed at the necklace and at Dean’s perplexed face. 

“Just remember, Winchester. Don’t forget to play along.”

******

No wonder Heaven was breaking the bank.

If they thought that their first night under Heaven’s roof had been lavish, this night was even more spectacular, and made the boys feel like imposters in their own workplace. The ticket fees to get into the venue were exorbitant—although Dean and Sam had gotten in for free. It was bottomless champagne, with crystals in the glasses. Jo, Ellen’s daughter, was zipping around the floor as she had been the first night, but on this night, she had a few younger angels helping her deal with the crowd. Loud, jazzy music almost made it hard to hear as the partons filtered in. The place was boisterous with laughter and chatter, with music and the clinking of glasses. 

Angels mingled with patrons, no doubt enticing patrons for services through charismatic socializing and flirtations. They all looked magnificent. If Dean thought they all seemed like gods and goddesses the first night he’d arrived at Heaven, then he’d been mistaken. Tonight they truly seemed unearthly, like titans and gods. There was nothing that wasn’t immaculate and perfect about the angels, from their costumes—made up of silks, and velvets, satins, and tulle. They shone under lights that flattered the glitter spread over their skin, the rhinestones and crystals on their faces and clothing, and the diamonds hanging from their ears and wrists.

He spotted Castiel standing by the bar, looking heavenly in a long black dress that hugged her body tightly, only falling away from it at her hips. The dress was made of thin, shining satin that rippled as she walked. The diamonds she wore on her body were in a necklace—a strange looking necklace no doubt designed by Charlie’s eccentric mind. The piece of jewelry hung from her neck in one long strand that cascaded over her bare chest, then down past her sternum. It diverged near her navel, then disappeared around her back, like a vest made of a singular string of diamonds. Despite the strange, but alluring piece of jewelry, she still wore chandelier diamond earrings that swung against her neck as she spoke.

She was so captivating that Dean nearly missed who she was talking to, but his admiration of her appearance tonight was rudely interrupted when the Duke leaned in and captured her red lips, tugging Castiel against him roughly. She took it in stride, placing a gloved hand against his neck and moving her cocktail glass out of the way so it didn’t spill on either of them. 

“Brute,” Dean muttered to himself, eyes narrowing at the exchange over the rim of his glass that he tipped back. 

It was a consolation though, that Cas’ eyes remained open. She moved her mouth and her hand caressed the Duke’s face, but her eyes watched him closely, only closing and reopening when they pulled away from each other. Dean watched her whisper into his ear and laugh, one finger swiping over his jaw. Then the duke kissed her hand, murmured something in her ear, and left.

Dean watched the Duke leave with his bodyguard, Raphael. They both donned their top hats and slid coats over their shoulders, slithering through the crowd towards the door. 

“The duke is leaving!” Dean whispered to Sam, elbowing him. 

Sam, who was busy watching some angels gather on the side of the stage, blinked and hummed, pulling himself away from distraction.

“Hmm, what?”

“The Duke,” Dean repeated, pointing across the venue. “He’s leaving. Dickhead isn’t even staying to watch Cas perform.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam nodded. “He’s off to Long Island. Balthazar and Hannah were telling me about it at rehearsal the other day. He’s investing in some club out that way too. Going to go scope out the place to see if there’s any revamping he can do.”

Dean’s eyes darkened and he slurped from his glass, glaring at the exit doors. He then looked back at Castiel, only to see her disappear through one of the side hallways that Dean now knew not only lead to the service rooms, but to backstage. 

“D’you think he has a girl just like Cas out there on Long Island? Some escort he’s paying to tolerate him?”

“I imagine that he probably might, I suppose,” Sam said distractedly, already turned away from the duke and towards the stage, where a few angels were rushing towards, weaving through the crowd.

Dean turned away from the exit too, noticing the noise from the crowd die down as angels weaved through them. Dean quickly forgot about the duke when jazzy music started up and Balthazar slid on stage through a gap in the curtains, the heavy red velvet pulled apart by Meg and Hannah.

Balthazar swept across the stage, welcoming the guests, capturing everyone’s attention with his whimsical speech. He teased and mocked like he had the first night Dean had attended, swinging around a bejeweled cane that he didn’t need for walking. He poked patrons in the chest as he introduced the show, reminding his “naughty, nasty, needy” patrons that if they wanted a taste of Heaven, angels were attracted to shiny things. 

A few angels slid onto the stage, practically floating onto the shiny performance space in a single line, decorating the view behind Balthazar as they leaned against one another, sexy, seductive, smarmy. Meg, Hannah, and Rachel looked smouldering, while Hester commanded power, and Michael and Luci winked playfully at some patrons, licking their teeth at a few particular regulars.

“Spend a pretty penny or trade a shiny jewel in exchange and my little pigeons will be spreading more than just wings for you!” Balthazar cried, swinging his cane to gesture at the row of angels that were still posing, shifting against each other, hips sticking out, heels poised to a point, muscles gleaming.

“Gross,” Sam muttered, but his lip was twitching as he pressed his mouth to the rim of his glass.

It amused Dean when he noticed Michael blink a big, clearly unimpressed with being referred to as a pigeon. But a smooth smile quickly dissolved the look of annoyance on the angel’s face, and he adjusted his pose, leaning an elbow on Meg’s shoulder nonchalantly.

“Or perhaps,” Balthazar taunted, tapping his chin, pacing the edge of the stage, his leather pants shining, his translucent white dress shirt fluttering as he walked, held down by sharp black suspenders, “you wish to be used and punished by our messengers of Heaven, for you are _sinners,_ aren’t you?”

There was a chorus of whoops and hollers from the crowd. Men and women of stature—those who, outside the walls of Heaven, would raise their noses at the less luxurious sex workers soliciting around street corners or at the mouths of alleyways—cheered and leered. It made Dean somewhat uncomfortable, knowing how it felt to be looked down on by these people. He ran his hand over the expensive fabric he wore, and felt like a traitor for pretending to be one of them. 

“Do you wish for a night of illicit desire without the requirement of time and, ugh,” Balthazar pressed a hand to his chest, “ _emotions?”_

The crowd laughed while the angels made sour faces and shook their heads. Sam and Dean exchanged eye-rolls. The glass of champagne in Dean’s hand was emptied down his throat, as he decided he needed to be a bit more drunk to handle Balthazar’s ridiculous schtick.

Lights flashed around the stage and Balthazar grinned, backing up with a smarmy strut, the angels parting to make a space for him. The crowd got loudly, clapping and whistling as smoke curled across the stage from vaporizers Ash had put together. Dean knew he was probably running like a mad man behind the curtain, aiming the smoke machine under the red curtains, the blond hair growing long at the nape of his neck flapping, a cigarette no doubt bouncing between his lips.

“Take it away, Michael, Luc!” 

Balthazar disappeared through the curtains, but Michael and Luci stepped up, their boots heavy on the stage. They stood in front of the other angels, grinning out at the crowd.

“ _Nice legs, daisy dukes,_ ” Michael sang, dragging a hand down his glittering sternum and washboard stomach, “ _makes a man go_ — _”_

Luci whistled like a cat call, and stepped forward, adding, “ _Low cut, see through, shirts that make you_ — _”_ They whistled together, winking at some patrons in the crowd, pressed back to back, moving their hips in a way that made Dean feel a little bit gay. “— _that’s the way they all come through like_ — _”_

While they catcalled again, they were shoved apart by Castiel, who’d walked up behind them after shoving aside the curtains, and parting the writhing angels in the background. She grabbed the boys by the back of their necks and forced them onto their knees, blue eyes flashing up.

She grinned and sang, her voice commanding and raspy, “ _‘Cause I just set them up. Just set them up, just set them up...to knock them down.”_

The house lights dropped abruptly, and Dean and Sam exchanged impressed, excited looks as the lights in room flashed and swiveled around, illuminating the crowd in rainbow colours, strobing. The lights turned back onto the angels, and the crowd cheered. 

Castiel stood sandwiched between Michael and Luci, who stood at her sides, arms around her waist. As Cas sang, her face teasing, Lucifer dropped to his knees in front of her, dragging his hands over her legs as she pressed the bottom of her high boots against his chest.

“ _‘Cause I just set them up_ ,” Lucifer and Michael crooned, gazing out at the crowd under hooded eyes, singing through grins, “ _Just set them up, just set them up...to knock them down.”_

More bright lights filtered through rainbow colours, making the glitter and rhinestones adorned on all the angels simmer as they strutted forward to join Cas, Luci, and Michael, gathering at the end of the stage. They all exchanged looks and launched into their electrifying chorus;

“ _I think I should know_ —” they all exchanged looks, eyes glittering mischievously, “— _how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out_ —” they dragged their hands over each other’s bodies. Castiel stood confidently in the middle of the writhing group, fists at her side, one heel tapping at the sage. “ _Now, L-O-V-E’s just another word I never learned to pronounce...”_

Dean’s heart jumped a bit, when beautiful big blue eyes turned down to watch him. She was singing to him.

Castiel tilted her head, curls bunched at her shoulders slipping down over her back, disappearing from sight. “How, _do I say I’m sorry? ‘Cause the word is never gonna come out. Now…L-O-V-E’s just another word I never learned to pronounce._ ”

The other angels burst up on to their feet, away from Cas as the instrumental music beat powerfully behind them. Lucifer swept Meg up off her feet, causing her to throw her head back with glee, while Michael yanked Hannah against his chest. Rachel slid up behind Michael, moving down his body like a snake, her hands dragging over his skin. Meanwhile, Castiel, followed by a spotlight, pushed off her heels away from the angels, and swung her hips as she walked down the steps off the stage.

Dean’s heart, which had fallen somewhere into his stomach, launched back up into his throat. His hands sweated as he became aware of the heavy diamond necklace hidden in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. His hands immediately started sweating at Cas’ head turned and she fixed him with a seductive look. 

When she turned towards him, the black feathers that lined the corset she wore shimmered, bringing out the inky blue undertones of the bodice. The tall boots that hugged her legs, all the way up to her mid-thigh, glistened wetly, and stretched over her skin as she walked over to him, swinging one leg languidly in front of the other. It became immediately apparent that it was show time, that Dean was seconds from behind involved in the show, when she strutted towards him and stopped at the edge of the table, leaning over.

“ _L-O-V-E’s just another word I never learned to pronounce,_ ” she sang to him, her lips glistening with some makeup he didn’t know the name of. Under the bright spotlight that now shined on him too, almost blindingly, she looked reverent. She had an aura of bright blue light, like she was an actual angel. Dean quickly realised the dizzy feeling he was feeling was because he was holding his breath, too busy being captivated to focus on basic bodily functions.

Castiel crawled onto the table. Sam quickly reached out and picked up the empty glasses that were in her way, holding them against his chest. Even Sam’s eyes were wide as he watched her crawl towards Dean.

“ _You know that type of thing just don’t work on me,”_ Castiel sang to Dean, her curls sliding back over her shoulder, swinging down around her elbows as she crawled, stopping on her hands and knees in front of him. Dean was breathless—she was gorgeous, seductive, and he hated being the center of attention like this, under the gaze of everyone in the room. She reached out and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling his face close, head turning like she was examining him, lashes heavy over ice blue irises. “ _Whistling and trying to flirt with me. Don’t take it personally_ — _”_

When Castiel suddenly slid off the table and onto Dean’s lap, he tried not to choke in front of everyone, her lips still close to his face, her hips grinding over his. 

“— _’cause we were never in love.”_

The look she gave him was meaningful, and Dean suddenly exhaled heavily, watching her face, never breaking their stare. 

He knew what she was trying to do. He knew why she’d picked this song to use him as bait. 

Cas raised herself off his lap, her boots clicking down onto the floor on either side of his chair, and her hands dragged over the sides of his face. A thumb dragged over his bottom lip. “ _It doesn’t really matter who you are, singing out the window of your car. Go find another girl across the bar,”_ her eyes didn’t leave his as she leaned close to his lips and sang, “ _‘cause L-O-V-E's not what this was.”_

His heart was pounding in his chest. He knew she was trying to send him a message, to dissuade him from feeling for her, but he couldn’t help but recall the way she met his eyes when they were making love, or her genuine smile that appeared over her lips when they sat on his balcony, legs intertwined, sharing stories and passing a cigarette between them. 

He watched her painted face, but only recalling her without makeup on, with sex-hair twined between her fingers, not wearing a corset and glitter, but instead wearing merely her boots and one of Dean’s shirts, smiling a small smile with her wide, chapped lips. 

Dean smirked at her, remember what she looked like hair damp and frizzy, her face flushed across the bathtub from him. 

She was a liar. A terrible, terrible liar. Castiel could sing all she wanted, try to dissuade all she wanted, but—

“You have feelings for me,” Dean whispered against her lips as he pulled the necklace out from his jacket and dangled it beside their faces. 

He felt her inhale sharply, their quiet conversation private in the space between their faces, too hushed for even Sam to hear. 

As the lights flashed, Castiel snatched the necklace away and swung her leg over his thighs, lifting herself off of him. He noticed a panicked, vulnerable glimmer to her eye, but she walked from him, her strong, thick legs carrying her away from him and back up onto the stage as she clasped the necklace around her throat. 

When she spun around to face the crowd, her face was confident, the vulnerable look in her eye hidden behind her stage persona. She snapped out her arm and swung it down to sit on her hip, just in time for the other angels to join her at the end of the catwalk, their arms coming around her, twining around each other, lips against each other’s skin, lips spread into grins. 

“ _I think I should know, how_ —” their hands dragged over each other’s, and their own, bodies, “— _to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out. L-O-V-E is just another word I never learned to pronounce. How do I say I’m sorry, ‘cause the word is never gonna come out. Now, L-O-V-E is just another word I never learned to pronounce!_ ”

The song finished, and the angels stayed posted at the end of the stage as the crowd cheered. The diamond necklace around Castiel’s neck shimmered almost excessively in the spotlight as her chest heaved. Castiel looked sultry, her eyes dark and hooded as she watched the crowd, but Dean’s stomach dropped as he realised she looked angry, her eyes glancing in his direction quickly.

With the duke out of town, he had momentarily assumed he’d be seeing her tonight. But the steel and ice in the look she threw him before she strutted off stage made him feel like he’d been spending his night alone, with nothing but his hand to keep him company.

***

An hour later, three sets of dance numbers, and one large final performance that involved Castiel doing very elegant and athletic aerial tricks on a suspended sash of baby blush silk, the club was dark. Most lights came from candles on the tables, or deliberately pointed spotlights on platforms, topped with dancing angels, or from the bars. Loud, jazzy music wafted through the air, urging the hips of angels and their patrons, encouraging flirting, and pulling money from the pockets of those seeking erotic services. Every few minutes, angels came and went from the service rooms, pulling in paying customers behind them, swinging their joined hands or stumbling into the darkness, connected by their lips. Partners—or groups—disappeared and came back out looking satisfied, clothing disheveled.

The club looked sufficiently smokey and the angels were all dressed up, so Charlie and Ash were free to mingle. They sat near the bar, where Dean and Sam joined. Even Hannah joined them, counting cash that she tugged from her bodice. 

“Made a killing, Han?” Ash asked, exhaling a curling cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

Hannah shrugged, giggling, her eyes flickering around the table. “Oh, yes! Got paid for quite a few dances, and then I was asked to go to a service room with a city councilman. They tip very generously, y’know, for your silence.” 

Sam smiled tightly and nodded, “I see.”

“We got lots of high profile people that visit us,” Charlie explained, gesturing around the room with her pint of beer. “What happens in Heaven stays in Heaven, y’know? It’s where these tight-ass rich fuckers come to get nasty without the public knowing about it.”

“Do you provide a lot of private services?” Sam asked Hannah politely, clearly searching for conversation.

Hannah and Charlie leaned forward to let a couple squeeze past them towards the bar, then Hannah nodded, curling up her bills and tucking them into her cleavage. She smiled at Sam. “Sure, depends on the night. Why? You want a service?”

Dean, Sam, and Charlie all choked on their drinks, while Ask chuckled drunkenly, his giggles sounding wheezy through the smoke in his throat. 

Hannah blinked, looking around earnestly. “What? What did I say?”

Charlie reached over and patted Hannah’s hand. “Han, you can’t just offer to fuck new friends all innocently like that. It only causes confusion and hilarity.”

Hannah looked embarrassed, scratching at her cheek. She blushed a bit and shrugged, eyes flickering to Sam. “Oh, gosh. Sorry, Sam. I...just...it’s habit, I suppose. It’s what we do when we’re here, y’know? I didn’t make to make you uncomfortable.”

Sam shook his head and waved his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, don’t worry, Hannah—”

“Sammy’s never paid for services like that,” Dean revealed, grinning. “He’s a wholesome boy.”

“Never?” Hannah gasped.

Sam glared at Dean, but he turned back to Hannah, his mouth gaping. “I—Well, I never, I mean. It’s not like… No, I’ve never _paid_ for _it_ before.”

“‘ _It’_ ,” Dean snickered, leaning towards Charlie who was laughing too. They clinked drinks.

Hannah curled a finger around a curl that fell into her face. “I guess you wouldn’t need to, a guy like you.”

Sam turned a deep shade of red while Dean, Charlie and Ash exchanged looks. Then, very maturely, they all grinned and swayed, crooning, “Oooooooooooooo.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered into his drink, turning away so that he could glare out into the pulsing, writhing crowd.

“You a virgin, Sam?” Ash asked, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray.

An offended gasp burst out from Sam’s throat, and he turned back to the table, ready to defend his honour, when Hannah jumped in, doing it for him.

“You guys cut it out!” she ordered, hopping off her stool, throwing them a look of disapproval. She walked around to Sam and took his hand from where it rested in his lap. She tugged on it and jerked her head towards the hallways lining the service rooms, pulling Sam away from the teasing. Dean, despite being the perpetrator, thought it was precious that Hannah wanted to save Sam from ridicule. “You wanna see what a service room looks like? Let me show you around, see what it’s like for the angels. We got a bunch of secret rooms.”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, sliding off his chair, twisting in his seat to set down his drink. He threw his friends a haughty glare. “I’ve had enough of these clowns for tonight.”

“Wear a rubber!” Dean called out after them, cupping his hand beside his mouth, completely aware that Hannah was likely just taking Sam for a tour. Still, the annoyed look on Sam’s face made it all worth it. “Just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu!”

“Hush, Dean!” Hannah called back, but she tugged Sam through the crowd anyway, disappearing into the mass of people.

Charlie and Ash grinned at him when he twisted back to face them.

“So,” Charlie started, raising a brow, “you got to fill in for Inias tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding and dragging his finger down the side of his glass through the condensation. “Got to be the lucky guinea pig.”

“Sure was lucky, all right,” Ash commented, his eyebrows jumping up onto his head. “She was all over you.”

Charie gestured to Jo over Dean’s head, making a drinking gesturing at her, before lowering her gaze to Dean’s face, her thin lips turned down into a frown. “Luck has nothing to do with it, does it, Dean?”

Silence fell over the table between the friends, despite the rest of the club continuing on, the sounds of laughter, music, and talking filling the space around them.

“Dunno what you mean,” Dean said, looking away, drinking from his glass. He knew exactly what was coming next, his face heating up to match the realization.

“No?” Charlie asked, her brows raising. “Because Castiel came to me this afternoon to specifically ask me to make sure you were given a table up front, and that you were given a sharp suit to wear.”

Dean’s head snapped back to face his friends. With a frown etched on his lips, he asked, “ _Castiel_ asked you? I thought she piggy-backed on Hannah’s idea to get us a table?”

“Hannah’s idea?” Charlie echoed, before the shook her head and snorted, leaning over the table. “Is that what Hannah told you? ‘Cause Castiel pulled us aside and arranged everything. She made it seem like it was an afterthought. She said, ‘I need a decoy, let’s use the writer’, but let’s be honest, Dean,” and that’s when Charlie’s eyes narrowed, “we both know damn well you’re not just ‘the writer’, are you?”

Dean wanted to spend more time on the fact that Castiel had orchestrated the entire thing, and likely had told Hannah to lie about whose idea it was, but Charlie clearly had other plans.

“Charlie—” he started.

“You have a hole in your ceiling that leads right up in my apartment, Dean,” Charlie yelled over the music as it crescendoed for a moment. She shook her head, her french braided fringe swinging by her ear. “Even though it’s covered with some boards and a carpet, you didn’t bother to keep it down, did you? I knew you were fucking someone, I mean you were both screamers—which, ew, Dean, I’d rather not have known—but when I saw a headpiece I’d custom-made for one of her shows haphazardly hanging off your bedside table, I sort of figured it out.”

Dean swallowed, nervous that Charlie knew. Castiel had been very particular about the conditions of their deal; no one was to know what they were doing. It was too risky. Word spread around Heaven like wildfire. 

Ash snorted. “Dean, you dog.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “You told anyone else?”

“I can’t believe you!” Charlie snapped, reaching across the table to punch Dean in the shoulder. “I told you not to try to sleep with her! Are you crazy? Are you _both_ crazy? You dropped many times as a baby? You can’t fuck _her_! First, I told you she’s not the relationship type, she doesn’t do love and all that stuff. If you fall for her, you’ll get hurt!” Charlie settled back into her chair, snapping up her drink with an angry flourish of her hand. “And second, if the duke finds out, you put all of Heaven in jeopardy.”

Dean stared at Charlie. He was tempted to tell her it was none of her business, but Charlie, despite only knowing him for a few weeks, was a good friend to him. And she was right; if the duke found out Castiel was sleeping with someone for free behind his back, spending the night with another man for companionship, he would leave Heaven and the club would go under. 

“We’re being careful,” Dean replied quietly, leaning in so that only Ash and Charlie could hear. “No one knows but you and Ash now. Not even Sam knows.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “If you’ve been sleeping with her while Sam’s home, then Sam certainly knows you’re having a roll in the sheets with _someone._ You certainly don’t mind letting the entire building know.” Then Charlie sighed, tracing the rim of her glass, her braid swinging. “Sam knows, Dean. He knows. I think Castiel told Hannah, because Hannah knows and she told Sam. Sam was the first one who told me he thought you might be sleeping with her. When I went over the other night to discuss costumes with you, that’s when I spotted the headpiece. I mean, I kind of was looking for clues, for confirmation.”

“Wait,” Dean said holding up a hand. His eyes narrowed. “Hannah told Sam?”

Charlie nodded, blinking, exchanging confused looks with Ash.

“So,” Dean continued slowly, pointing a finger at Charlie, “that means Castiel has been telling people too…”

“Like I said,” Charlie repeated, her lip twitching, “secrets don’t remain secrets for long in this place. Cas isn’t immune to that either.”

Speaking of Cas, Dean saw her on the other end of the bar they were seated near. Charlie was saying something else, but he got distracted, taking in Castiel’s appearance, noticing she was back in her long black evening dress, her hair down, a black, glittering headpiece across her forehead with a dangling blue gem in the middle. Her lips glistened and her eyes were rimmed in a smokey grey. Even from twenty yards away, he could tell the makeup brought out her eyes, noticing that they looked electric surrounded by inky-black powder and lashes.

She walked out in a walk he knew she manufactured just for her club persona, a slow, calculated walk that made it look like she was floating. Her shoulders were back, her chin high. She surveyed the room through hooded eyes, her lips set in a neutral position unless someone caught her eye, at which point she allowed the corner of her mouth to lift into a small smirk.

Dean watched her, his breath held, his throat sudden obscured by a lump the size of a golf ball. He didn’t think she would notice him, until her sweep of the room forced her to make eye contact with him. She seemed to freeze as she spotted him, and she looked away quickly. Dean exhaled shakily, only to hold his breath again when she raised her gaze to him again.

They stared at each other across the room, both frozen. Castiel looked angry again, but then she was forced to look away when a stern looking woman approached her, her face partially obstructed by a pale grey hat with a wide brim.

As the woman engaged Castiel in conversation, Dean noticed something peculiar. Cas seemed to lose the hard edge in her posture and she seemed smaller. She smiled at the woman as she spoke to her, but her eyes were a bit wide in something that seemed like...fear?

“Who’s that?” Dean said, interrupting Charlie, who seemed like she was trying to explain to Dean how annoying it had been to hang the silk from the ceiling for Cas’ act. Or was she talking about hair? Dean hadn’t been listening.

Charlie rolled her eyes but looked over her shoulder. She shuddered then turned back to Dean, his eyes wide.

“That’s Naomi,” Charlie said, her voice hushed. 

Even Ash sat up a bit, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

Charlie sat up straighter, and leaned forward, her tone nervous. “She’s the landlord of the complex we’re in. She owns everything. She’s Balthazar’s boss. She makes all the big decisions, she… Well, she basically owns all of us.”

“You all scared of her?” Dean asked, still watching Castiel, his stomach turning uncomfortably as he noticed the woman talking pointedly to Cas, who was watching Naomi’s face with wide eyes, nodding slowly.

“Sure are,” Ash muttered. “With reason, too. She can make you and your career disappear if she wishes. She’s broken people down, twisted people to do her will. Like Charlie said, she owns us all. Naomi gets what she wants. If she wants to close our doors tomorrow and sell this place, she will. Hell, she almost did sell this place, but Balthazar asked to be given a chance to save it. That’s when he and Cas started hunting down investors and brainstorming a way to revitalize the business.”

Dean nodded, understanding all of their fear. 

They all fell silent, Ash watching Naomi as well while Charlie stared into her drink, her stare a hundred miles away. 

Minutes later, Naomi walked away from Castiel and left the room, her gait clipped. In her dust, she left Castiel looking a bit sick. 

“Be right back,” Dean muttered absentmindedly, sliding off his stool.

“Dean,” Charlie hissed. “Heed my warning!”

But she was ignored when he pushed past her and through the crowd. Castiel was so deep in thought she almost didn’t see him coming. _Almost._ As he stopped in front of her, she tilted her head up, her eyes narrowing to slits, her mouth scowling. A little line appeared between her eyes and her jaw clenched, making her look furious but undeniably adorable.

“How can I help you, writer?” she asked.

Dean’s hands became clammy in his pockets. “Just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment to glance around her. When she seemed to accept that no one could hear them over the music, she shrugged almost imperceptibly.

“I’m fine.”

Dean’s lips twitched into small smile. “You sure? ‘Cause you looked about two seconds from tossing your cookies.”

She tilted her head and asked, “Toss my….what?”

“Nothing,” Dean muttered, then he raised his voice and asked, “Do you wanna go somewhere to talk?”

“Talk?” she repeated, her chin pulling back for a moment as she looked perplexed. “Talk about what?” And before Dean had a second to reply, her face fell back into an unimpressed expression. “Oh,” she said, “ _talk._ I understand. No, Dean. I don’t want to _talk,_ I have to work.”

Dean shook his hand through the air. “No, Cas. I didn’t mean _talk_ , I meant…well, y’know, actual talking.”

A heavy sigh through glossy lips made Dean feel a bit stupid, though her shoulders drooped and she repeated, “I have to work. I can’t _talk_.”

She made to move around him, but Dean reached out, brushing his fingers over her hand. “Cas, wait—”

He didn’t expect her to react so quickly, yanking her hand away. She narrowed her eyes at him again and whispered near his face, almost threateningly, “I am not ‘Cas’, I am Castiel. I told you, Dean, I cannot talk. I must work. And I do _not_ have feelings for you.”

Ah, so that’s what this was about. Dean couldn’t help it. He smiled and nodded, “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

Dean raised his brows at her. “Yeah, I believe you; you don’t.”

Her eyes widened and she looked petulant, her mouth opening and closing. Then, “Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“That _thing_ where you say the opposite of what you mean!”

Dean grinned crookedly. “If you think I mean something other than what I’m saying, then it’s because maybe you _think_ what I’m trying to say is true.”

Her fists were curled at her side and she snapped, “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re falling for me,” Dean retorted, flashing her a mocking expression where he raised his brow quickly and licked his bottom lip.

Castiel rolled her eyes and turned away from him, but not before growling, “You are infuriating and delusional. I’m an angel and you,” her eyes flickered down over Dean’s body, then snapped back up to his face, “are just a man.”

Dean watched her walk away, his lips smiling but his heart sinking. He was sure Charlie and Ash were watching so Dean turned towards the bar and ordered a drink, trying to push down the feeling of rejection. 

He had been so sure that Castiel was feeling something for him, but now, as he sipped free whiskey from Ellen at the end of the bar, he wondered if it was all just wishful thinking.

***

Later that night, Castiel swept up through one of the side corridors, breathing heavily, pushing through drunk patrons and giggling fellow-angels that dragged their giddy patrons behind them towards the service rooms. She pulled her long black skirt up a bit so she could quicken her pace, her hand shaking at her side as she gripped onto more diamonds than she knew what to do with.

She spotted Balthazar leaning against the bar, waving his hands animatedly as he entertained a local councilman, no doubt telling a grand story about a tale that never actually happened to him. Castiel maneuvered through the crowd and stopped behind the councilman, miming to Balthazar to meet her in the dark hallway that led to the service room.

After a minute, after standing in the crowd with her hands shaking, Castiel watched Balthazar graciously excuse himself and disappear into a side hallway. Quickly, she turned on her heel and took an alternate doorway into the hallway.

She burst through a glittering beaded curtain and approached Balthazar, who paced the hallway, waiting for her. With his arms thrown up at his side, he approached her, looking worried. 

“How is the night going, Castiel?” he inquired, scanning her face, as if he was searching for something. “What do you have so far?”

Even though her heart pounded and her hand was shaking, Castiel looked triumphant, raising a heavy diamond bracelet into the air between them. It glittered brilliantly even in the dull candle-lit hallway, and was nearly two inches thick.

“The Mayor gave me this.”

Balthazar’s mouth dropped open so aggressively that Castiel was tempted to jump forward to catch it before it hit the floor.

“That must have cost a fortune!”

They both stared at it and Castiel whispered, “He said it’s a gift for me, for ‘brightening his week every week’, and said he’s going to miss me while we’re closed for renovations. Balthazar...how much is this worth?”

The diamonds reflected in Balthazar’s wise blue eyes. After some quick math in his head, he looked up at her and laughed breathily, “My darling, you’re holding about thirty-five hundred dollars.”

“What will that cover?” Castiel asked, staring at him intensely, the line between her eyes deepening.

“Christ, Cas. Um, the lights, the rent—”

“And for her savings account?” Castiel asked.

Balthazar’s face and smile softened. He raised a hand and curled it around her neck comfortingly. “Yes, absolutely. As always.”

Castiel nodded slowly, turning the bracelet between them in the air. “Good.”

They both took a moment to allow their hearts to slow. Then Balthazar patted her neck again and pulled his hand back, sliding it into his pockets. As he rocked on his heels, he said with a raise of his brows, “We must offer the Mayor a complimentary night, you know that, right?”

Castiel’s blue eyes flickered up to his face, and she smirked. “Of course. I already offered it to him.”

“Good girl. When do you reckon?”

The diamonds clinked and rattled in her hand as she closed her fist around them and handed them to Balthazar. 

“He’s out of town for some business in Long Island for three weeks, but when he returns, I told him I have a luxury evening planned for him. Thursday, when he returns.”

Balthazar curled his hand around her head and planted a kiss between her hairline and the blue gem that hung from her headband. Pulling back, he smiled at her, giving her a proud shake. “Splendid. I’ll prepare everything, you just keep your schedule cleared for that evening.”

***

The night wrapped up. Dean didn’t see any more of Castiel after she had walked away from him and through the crowd. He ignored Ash and Charlie’s chastising, and was relieved when Sam returned to the table with Hannah, both chattering happily. Sam gushed like a nerd about the historical information Hannah had parted onto him during their tour. He blathered on about gothic architecture while Hannah supplied additional information, all the while Dean thought of nothing other than angry blue eyes and the image of Castiel walking away from him.

The patrons eventually left, and the angels who were not in services were helping Jo and Ellen clean. Even Jody, who had tucked in all the small children, was taking a break from childcare to come out and help sweep away glitter and broken glass.

Dean felt mentally exhausted and excused himself from the group who chose to stay behind. Sam was pouring Hannah a glass of wine, grinning happily, his cheeks glowing and red with a drunken flush, and Charlie had excused herself with Ash to go smoke marijuana outside. Dean was done with the night.

He slid off his stool, and waved goodbye to his brother and their angel friend. He rubbed at his face as he walked through the tables, nodding goodbye to the angels he was acquainted with, and made his way out into the lobby. Kevin was counting money tiredly behind the box office, but paused his count to wave Dean farewell.

He took a detour up the stairs to the staff room, where he had left his jacket. The room was empty since no one was leaving for another hour, so he slid the coat over his shoulders in silence.

At least, it was silent for a moment. The door opened behind him and then clicked closed. 

Dean looked up and was shocked to see Castiel leaning back against the door, holding it closed. She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“Cas… What’re you doing here?” Dean asked, angry at himself for the happy little flutters in his stomach.

Castiel was in lingerie; a black laced, ribbed bra-bustier with matching garter belt that held up sheer stockings. Dean’s heart caught in his throat as he watched the sheer, short robe over her shoulders swished around her hips, revealing panties that were sheer and made up of mere strings. He wasn’t even sure he could call them panties. 

“Come here,” she rasped. 

With a gulp, Dean nodded and turned fully towards her, walking slowly into her personal space, stopping when there were inches between them. He didn’t touch her, unsure of what she was doing. 

“Cas—”

But it became abundantly clear what she was doing. Cas slid hands up his shoulders, curling around his neck, before they came to a stop on his face. She stepped forward in almost a stumble and pressed her lips to his.

Dean sighed happily against her lips when her tongue slipped against his, slippery and warm, breaching his lips and sweeping into his mouth. Her lips were sticky, probably from that glossy makeup, and her eye-makeup was a bit smudged, but she looked beautiful. She smelt sharp and Dean realised she smelled of cologne.

Still, he kissed back and reached up to cup her face too. As soon as he did so, one of her hands reached down and undid his trousers. Her other hand joined in and yanked down his pants. He sucked in a sharp breath when air hit his cock and balls, his stomach turning with surprise at her forceful, no-time-to-waste approach. He said her name again as she pulled her hands up to his shoulders and hopped up, swinging her legs around his waist.

Dean stumbled, catching her and pressing her up against the door. She tightened her legs around him and reached down to guide his hard erection towards her entrance. He groaned as he looked down, noticing she moved her underwear aside to slide the tip of his cock against her slick clit.

“Fuck me,” she growled.

A sense of discontent fell over Dean, and he was sure Cas felt it too. Something was off, something was different. He looked up to her face and saw that she not only smelled of cologne, but of wine too. And she was watching him with hard eyes. Cas wasn’t there, only the Angel of Thursday, the character she played, her stage persona.

“What is this?” Dean asked in a breath.

“You don’t want to?” she asked, raising her brows.

Dean swallowed audibly. “Yeah, of course I do, Cas. But, I mean, right here? You want to do this—”

“—Right here,” she said through her teeth, her eyes intense, unblinking as she watched his face. Then those eyes slid closed when Dean nodded and pushed forward, sliding into her, into her swollen, slick pussy. He groaned when she whimpered, and he pressed her back against the door, his head falling to her shoulder and his hand reaching to his side, sliding under her thigh to hold her up.

She tilted her head back and whimpered as he fucked her slowly up against the door, his nails digging into her thighs.

They breathed heavily in the silence of the room, the sound competing with nothing other than the creaking of floorboards under his feet and the dull thumping of music coming from the dance floor a storey below. 

So Castiel’s words seemed almost loud in the room. She sucked in a series of sharp breaths as he tilted his hips just right, pushing the tip of his cock up against a spot he knew she liked. “This is why I can’t have feelings for you,” she choked out, her fingers sliding up into his hair, “nor you for me.”

Dean pulled his head up from her shoulder and stared at her, their breath mingling hotly in the inch between their lips. “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

Castiel swallowed visibly, choking down another whimper. After a hitched breath, her eyelids fluttering, she whispered, “Do you feel me? I’m wet, Dean. I was wet when I came in here.”

Dean stilled inside her, buried so deep that he was unsure of where he ended and she started. They remained intertwined together, but they were frozen.

Castiel stared at him openly now, her eyes glittering.

“I just fucked a man twice my age,” she whispered. “He paid me twice what you pay in rent, for just forty-five minutes inside me.”

Dean blinked, head leaning away a bit so he could search her face more clearly. “Cas, what—”

“How _in love_ do you feel right now, Dean Winchester?” she challenged, her voice rough. 

“This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she rasped, the dark smudges under her eyes looking deeper “Tell me, Dean; are you jealous?”

Dean was silent. Then, “This man you were with… Do you love him?”

Castiel was silent, her nostrils flaring. Then she bared her teeth and growled, “No.”

Dean shrugged under her hands, and he said, “Then no, I’m not jealous. It’s your job.”

“You’re a liar.”

“It’s your job.”

“Stop lying!” Castiel snapped, her blue eyes wide and wild. She pressed her palm flat to Dean’s shoulder and pushed at him, forcing him to step back. She dropped her feet to the floor, jerking herself away from him, stumbling back against the door.

“I’m not jealous, Cas,” Dean insisted, staring at her through wide eyes, searching her face, unsettled by the pure anger and hurt etched into her features. “I know who you are, what you are. I‘ve known who you are since I met you. This is not a surprise.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

He wasn’t sure what else to tell her. Dean threw his hands up on either side of him and he made a noise of disbelief.

“I just...accept you,” he admitted incredulously, as he reached down to yank up his pants and jerk them over his hips. He shook his head as did up the buttons. “Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Get away from me,” she said clearly, turning and yanking on the door handle. Dean had to step away from the door to avoid being knocked out by it. 

“Cas, what are you…”

“Leave me alone.”

She was gone, swept up the stairs before Dean even had a chance to piece together what just happened.


	8. New Conditions

“Following Shaun’s discussion with Yuri,” Dean explained, pacing the edge of their rehearsal space, “the scene opens with Celeste and Daniel. Daniel is seated alone, but enter stage left Castiel-as-Celeste.”

Castiel sat up in her chair, eyes on the script balanced on her knee. Sam sat beside her and cleared his throat, training his face to look casual, but thoughtful. Dean was pleased to see he looked a bit angry, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“ _Let me guess_ ,” Sam-as-Daniel said haughty. “ _You’re here for the ‘I told you so’._ ”

Castiel-as-Celeste also had her face trained to be serious, but she squinted a bit, turning her head. She said in a flat tone, “ _No._ ”

Sam-as-Shaun shrugged and gestured in a clipped manner towards the scene he was supposed to be witnessing, of children playing in the cobblestone street. “ _Well, good, ‘cause I’m really not that interested._ ”

“ _I’m not here to judge you, Daniel.”_

Sam’s lip curled a bit and he shrugged. “ _Then why are you here?”_

Sam was doing a surprisingly good job of playing Daniel. Dean had never doubted Sam’s acting chops. He’d seen him play too many characters in their life, in all kinds of plays. Sam had been the hero, the side character, a villain, even a fuckin’ talking tree at one point. But the moment Dean had crafted the main character Daniel after himself, he wondered if Sam could really do it.

But it turned out, being attached to each other basically for their entire lives, had taught Sam a thing or two about how to imitate Dean. The character of Daniel came to life on Sam’s face, from the haunted look in his eye when the character talked about Hell, to the look of defiance as he talked to Celeste.

Cas was, as expected, nailing the portrayal of Celeste. Dean hadn’t expected any different from her, already having heard her read the lines before there had even been auditions. She captured the perfect balance between awkward human and ethereal being, with the floating way that she walked and the stiffness in her shoulders. She was power and fury, but curiosity and confusion. He wasn’t sure how she did that with her face, but he felt an inexplicable pride whenever she nailed a performance or aced a script reading on the first try. She had been a prostitute and cabaret dancer her entire life, yet she clearly had a calling in acting.

He tuned back in to watch her turn to Sam, a look of worry gnawing at her features. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d missed half of their read-through.

“ _You misunderstand me, Daniel. I’m not like you think...I was praying that you would choose to save the town.”_

Sam looked to Castiel, his head reeling back a bit, his legs shifting as he turned towards her slightly. In a perplexed tone, he asked, “ _You were?_ ”

“ _These people,_ ” Castiel-as-Celeste said thoughtfully, her voice hinting at a bit of wonder as she gestured out to the non-existent scene of children playing, “ _they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to Hell on Earth for all creation_.” Castiel looked up from her script, and she winced, eyes glittering under furrowed brows. “ _Now that’s not an expression, Daniel; it's literal. You, of all people, should appreciate what that means.”_

A tortured expression crossed over Sam’s face, his eyelids fluttering, but then he clenched his jaw and looked away, shaking his head imperceptibly. 

“ _Okay._ ”

Cas stared at Sam, having already memorized her lines, even after only a short read-through. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands.

“ _I’m not… a hammer, as you say. I have...questions.”_ And Dean froze when she raised her head and stared right at him, her eyes storming. “ _I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore.”_

Dean felt a lump in his throat that he struggled to swallow, and he felt uneasy on his feet. That was the workplace hazard of being under Castiel’s gaze. It was always so full of meaning, so heavy. 

Castiel carried on, tearing her eyes away from Dean. She slipped back into Celeste and admitted raspily, “ _I don’t know whether you passed or failed here, but in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Daniel. I truly don’t.”_

“...and scene,” Dean said thickly, working around the nervous lump in his throat, a residual effect of being held under Castiel’s gaze for too long. He rolled up the script and tucked it under his arm, striding forward to join the circle of his cast. 

Balthazar jumped to his feet as the cast stood and gathered their things.

“Fantastic scene, Dean,” the man said, clapping Dean on the arm. He smirked. “You haven’t let me down yet. Perhaps I should continue to let people hire themselves, it seems to be working out swimmingly.”

Dean smiled tightly and nodded, noticing Castiel leave the circle of chairs, heading towards the exit of Heaven. “Yeah, thanks, Balth.”

“You’ll have more scenes done this weekend?” Balthazar asked.

Eager to catch up with Castiel, Dean nodded. “Oh, yeah. Got a bunch of ideas all lined up. Will you excuse me?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder. “I have an idea I want to run by Castiel but she’s sort of hard to catch…”

Balthazar looked over his shoulder at Cas’ retreating form, and he chuckled. “Yes, she’s not stellar at goodbyes.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, we’ve got to work on that.”

He exchanged farewells with Balthazar, and yelled back to Sam that he’d see him later that night, before jogging after Castiel, who was already almost out of the front doors.

“Ms. Grace,” he called out after her, knowing full well that the duke could be anywhere around. “Wait!”

Castiel stopped at the top of the steps down into the city square, her hands bunching into fists at her side. He knew she heard him because she inclined her head to the side a bit, but then she shook out her balled fists and picked up her long brown skirt, beginning her descent down the cobblestone steps.

Dean took two steps at a time and hopped down beside her, falling into step.

“Hi,” Dean said, shooting her a shit-eating grin when she threw him a sidelong, unreadable glance.

“Hello, Dean,” she replied flatly, her nostrils flaring.

Dean untucked the script he had from under his arm and he waved it in her direction. “You did really well today, Castiel. No one else had memorized their lines as well as you had.”

“Yes, well.” She sighed, glancing at the script, then she commented dryly, “Reading comprehension is a strong suit of mine.”

He chuckled, falling into step with her, the script swinging down to his side. “I guess it is. Do you need some company? Where are you off to in such a rush?”

Castiel turned her face away in frustration, letting the skirt she had bunched up in her hand fall from her fingers. She flicked at a piece of hair that had fallen into her face from the plait swinging around her waist, curled over her shoulder.

“It is not of import to you how I spend my Saturday afternoon.”

“I wasn’t asking if it was important, I was asking where you were going,” Dean threw back.

The natural flush in Cas’ high cheekbones deepened as she grew more irritated. “I have an appointment with my doctor, and then I’m going to visit a friend—”

Dean easily kept up with her as her pace quickened. “Doctor? You all ri—”

“Stop following me,” she snapped as they passed the gates from the entertainment complex out in the street. It almost instantly got louder as they joined the pedestrian crowds of New York. 

She squeezed through a crowd of people walking the opposite way, almost losing him, but Dean hopped up beside her and retorted, “It’s a free country, ain’t it? I can walk anywhere I want.”

Castiel shook her head but overall, ignored Dean completely. 

“Look,” Dean sighed, waving the script as he spoke. “I haven’t seen you since that last cabaret night Cas, it’s been weeks—”

“Untrue,” Castiel clipped, picking up her skirt again as they stepped into the street, their boots walking through dirty puddles left over from last night’s rain. “I see you at rehearsals.”

Dean didn’t reply right away as a paperboy yelled in their ear about Friday’s news, waving bundles in their faces. But after they passed him, Dean growled and caught up to Cas, who ducked down an alleyway.

“Cas,” he said, “you know what I mean.”

She shook her head, eye line still in front of her as she insisted on not looking at him. “I told you to leave me alone. Is it not enough that we still see each other at rehearsal?”

Okay, her irritated, cold demeanor had been cute for a moment, but now Dean was feeling the frustration too. He tucked the script under his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets, stopping dead in his tracks. 

“Are you angry with me?” he asked loudly, shaking his head at her back. 

Castiel, to his surprise, stopped just at the mouth of the alleyway that would take her out onto another busy street. She stood there with her back to him for a moment, then she turned around and made more eye contact with him than she had for weeks.

She looked tired.

“No, I’m not angry with you,” she replied quietly. Her eyes swept over his face, and although she said she wasn’t upset, her face looked warily at him.

Dean shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “You have a real strange of showing it, lady.”

Castiel tilted her chin down, staring at the ground. _There goes the eye contact,_ Dean thought bitterly to himself.

“Why did you ask me to leave you alone?” Dean pushed, when he noticed she hadn’t made a move to sweep out into the street. He stepped towards her slowly.

“It’s in your best interest,” she replied, her voice steady, though when she looked up at him, her nostrils flared and her jaw was set.

“Well, gee, Cas,” Dean replied, shaking his head, “I appreciate you lookin’ out for me and all, but I’m a grown boy and can decide that for myself. Look, I know who you are, I know _what_ you are. I think—”

“I think,” Castiel spoke over him, her voice stern, “you haven’t thought everything through. You’re being reckless, while I am _trying_ to be logical. We would not work, we would not last, we aren’t meant to be to—”

“You think I’m reckless,” Dean interrupted, reeling back a bit. He heard his father’s voice in his head, yelling at him for being reckless, for not being proper, for not taking good enough care of Sam.

“Perhaps,” Castiel replied shortly, shrugging one shoulder at him and beginning to turn her body away.

“Well, ain’t that nice,” Dean snapped back. 

Apparently fuelled by Dean’s hot turn of mood, Castiel stepped towards him and frowned, her eyes sarcastic as she replied, “Well, if you don’t like reckless, then perhaps insouciant?”

Dean released a bark of laughter. “I think you could afford to be a bit more insouciant, if you ask me, princess. We had a good thing going, I don’t underst—”

“We did have a good thing going!” Castiel growled, her voice raised. She stepped towards him, her fists curling in her skirt. “But you were the one who started with the ‘love’ nonsense, and I had thought I’d made myself clear that I do not participate in such flimsy, useless emotions—”

“You told Hannah.”

Castiel stopped in her tracks, her fists loosening in the fabric. Her throat worked for a moment, then she narrowed her eyes and asked hotly, “I beg your pardon?”

Dean felt a spark of triumph. He straightened up and said conversationally, “I know you told Hannah about me, about our—” he spun a finger in the air, “—trysts.”

“No, I didn’t.” She tossed her head back, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Dean raised both eyebrows at her and challenged, “Now who’s a liar?”

He watched her swallow and her face soften just a bit. Then, quietly, after licking her lips and shifting on her feet, she asked, “So what if I told Hannah?”

Dean slowly stepped towards her again, his gait thoughtful. “Why, when you’re so concerned about the Duke finding out, would you tell Hannah about having an affair with me if I mean nothing? Why take that risk? Why be so _reckless_ over an affair with some stupid writer you just use for sex?” Cas’ eyes narrowed, but her glare didn’t dissuade Dean. He was inches too deep into her personal space before he came to a stop and whispered by her face, “You said it yourself; we can’t tell anyone, the duke can’t know. So, tell me, Cas; why would you talk to Hannah about this?

Her eyes darted from one green eye to the other, her mouth pursed, her jaw set again. Her eyes narrowed at him before she turned away.

“I have to go. I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have an appointment.”

Then she was gone, swept up in a crowd that hurried down the street. 

“You really suck at goodbyes, you know!” he yelled after her, throwing his hands up in the air. 

***

“ _Where’s the knife?_ ” Hannah demanded, looking up from her script at Sam in panic.

Sam-as-Daniel looked only half-apologetic, otherwise looking over Hannah, who was a stand-in, reading for Ruby, with distaste. “ _Hey, don’t look at me_.”

They were testing out a scene Dean had written and were missing Gadreel, so Dean blinked and looked up from the script in his lap. “Thanks _a lot_.”

Sammy flashed a fake grin, then rolled his eyes.

Hannah slapped her thigh with her script, her teeth bared. As Ruby, she sneered, “ _Great. Just peachy. Impeccable timing. Really_ —”

“And then,” Dean said, dropping character, pushing off the iron railing of his balcony, pacing through Sam and Hannah as he read from his preliminary script, “they raise their weapons, the barn door bursts open, and Castiel enters with Yuri—”

“ _Please tell me you’re here to help_ ,” Sam-as-Daniel said dryly. “ _We’ve been having demon issues all day_.”

“—and then Yuri says, ‘ _I can tell’_ , looking at Ruby,” Dean narrated. “‘ _You want to explain why you have that_ stain _in the room?’_ he adds, at which point Castiel says—”

“What about this?” Charlie said, holding up a long, glittering dress on a hanger to her left, and a modest, fluffy looking frock to her left. She looked between the two options and shrugged, staring out at her friends as they lounged on the balcony under the setting sun. “Which one screams ‘Celeste: Angel of the Lord’ to you?”

Lowering his script, Dean pulled a face, looking offended. “You want to put Castiel in thatgranny dress? It looks like it smells like mothballs and caramels.”

With a snort, Hannah added, “And, I mean, I’m not the writer, but Celeste doesn’t seem to be the rhinestone and glitters kind of angel, y’know?”

Charlie’s head tipped back and she growled, dropping the options to her sides. “Ugh, you are so right. Why am I freezing to style this character? Her vessel is a school teacher, it should seem easy but this is also a _Heaven_ ’s premier show, it seems strange not to don the leading lady in something glamorous and spectacular. Dean, what’s your writer’s input? What’s your vision?”

Dean barely heard Charlie as his attention was lost over the railing of his balcony, eyes locked on one Castiel Grace walking down the street beside Claire. The little girl was skipping beside her, pausing to swing from Castiel’s hand, before continuing to speak, her little arms flailing. 

“I mean,” Charlie went on, not waiting for Dean’s answer, “I know you said you had visions of an angel in a trench coat, sure, but what _kind_ of trenchcoat? And what does she wear under the trenchcoat? A dress? A shirt? Does it have bustle? I’m hoping you’re imagining something with glitter because I have bags of glitter I need to do away with… Hey! Where are you going?”

“Important business,” Dean said, hopping through a window, back into his apartment. As he swept up his coat and jerked it into his shoulders, he looked back and said, “Got something to handle, you guys keep rehearsing. And Charlie, it’s a no on the glitter. Her vessel was a school teacher, get it together.”

Charlie’s mumbles were abruptly cut off as Dean opened and closed his apartment door behind him. He rushed down the steps and burst out into the street, zoning in on the angel and her tiny assistant as they weaved through crowds. Completely unprepared, Dean followed, jogging to catch up to them.

“Ms. Grace!” he yelled, waving.

Cas turned around, scowling. Her eyes narrowed at him, but Claire spun around and gasped, yanked her hand from Cas’ grasp and bounced over to Dean. The once shy little thing was comfortable around him now, and talked a mile-a-minute.

“Mr. Dean, look at the ribbon Ms. Castiel bought for me!” she exclaimed, pointing at a thick red ribbon around her waist, tied neatly into a bow. Her big blue eyes were glittering with joy and she grinned, her missing front tooth only charming him further. Dean leaned down to poke the bow.

“That’s real nice, Claire-bear,” he chuckled. “Is that to wear to a fancy party?”

Castiel approached slowly, looking like she was trying to hide her annoyance from Claire, but her mouth was pressed tightly as she glared at Dean. Claire leaned in, close to his face and she whispered, “Can I wear it for my costume, Mr. Dean? Have you written my part yet?”

“Not yet, Ms. Claire-ita,” he replied, sitting back on his heel as he kneeled down completely. “But when I do, do you have any suggestions on what kind of character you want Lilith to be?”

The little girl’s blonde curls bounced around her shoulders as she grinned and made little claws with her fingers. “I want to be evil!”

Dean pressed a hand to his chest and blinked, “Well, well, you certainly are scary. I don’t think I have a choice here, clearly Lilith’s gotta be evil!”

Castiel’s scowl twitched just for a moment when Dean looked up to catch her eye, but it melted completely when Claire reached back to tug on her hand and giggle.

“Ms. Castiel, did you hear that? I’m going to be a big bad in the play!”

Castiel have the little fingers in her hand a squeeze and she replied with a tilt of her head, “More like a little bad, don’t you think, tiny angel?”

Claire’s little squeal of amusement had them both smiling to themselves, Dean’s heart giving a warm squeeze as the little girl adjusted her new bow and pointed up into a shabby little building.

“I gotta go, Ms. Castiel! Will I see you tomorrow? Oh, please come visit, I—”

Castiel was kneeled down too, her thick linen skirt puddling over the cobblestone sidewalk. She took both of Claire’s small hands in her own and she gave them a squeeze, her typically stoic face soft and kind, her eyes sparkling fondly.

“I’ll try my best, Claire-bear. I have to spend time with the Duke, tomorrow,” she explained quietly.

Though Claire was turned away from Dean now, he grinned as he saw her profile scrunch up into a pinched expression. 

“I don’t like him,” Claire said with a pout. “He snaps his fingers at Ms. Jody. Ms. Jody says he’s a mean man.”

With a snort, interrupting whatever Castiel had planned on saying, Dean nudged Claire in the elbow and whispered, “I think so too.”

While Castiel shot Dean an exasperated look over Claire’s shoulder, the little girl giggled. Castiel’s face made a swift recovery when Claire turned to her and threw her tiny arms around her neck, giving the angel a drawn out, tight hug. Dean’s heart melted a bit when Cas buried her face in the girl’s hair, and kissed her forehead once she’d pulled away.

“Be good to Jody,” Castiel ordered, rubbing red lipstick off the little girl’s forehead with a handkerchief retrieved from her pocket. “Brush your hair in the morning, and wash behind your ears. Eat your brussel sprouts. Ms. Jody has enough on her hands with this temporary location and Naomi, she doesn’t need to be picking up vegetables from under the table, now does she?”

Nodding, and having the decency to look ashamed, Claire nodded. “Yes, Ms. Castiel. Thank you for my gift.”

Both Dean and Cas got to their feet as the small child ran up the steps, disappearing into the tall, narrow grey building.

“Is that the temporary childcare facility Balthazar mentioned at the staff meeting last week?” Dean asked, jerking his head at the door and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess the basement is kind of a noisy place for a classroom…”

Castiel made a humming noise, staring after Claire, even when the door closed behind her. 

“Yes,” she murmured distractedly. “Their classroom and lunch hall is now covered in a thin layer of sawdust, and hidden under piles of plywood.”

In classic Castiel fashion, she swept away without so much as a goodbye. Dean rolled his eyes and followed, quickly falling into step with her.

“Walk you home?” he offered, raising his brows at her expectantly.

“I am not walking home, Dean. As a matter of fact, I am walking in the opposite direction,” she said flatly. Dean felt his face get hot, noticing that she had a point. Heaven was behind them, getting smaller as they walked away from it and around a corner. “But no, I don’t require an escort.”

“Then can I join you for company?”

Ignoring his hopeful tone and his grin, Castiel glanced sidelong at him, but then pursed her lips and picked up her pace. “You are free to walk wherever you please, but I don’t require company.”

This is what Dean got for asking. His typical mantra was to “do and say sorry later” instead of “asking only to not receive permission”. 

His shoes clicked over the cobblestone, the rhythm syncing with the clapping of Castiel’s boots. His hands were sweaty in his pockets.

“So is this what you do on those weekends you always claimed to be so busy?” Dean snorted, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb towards the childcare building. “Buying ribbons and gifts for your assistant?”

“I told you earlier,” Castiel said through her teeth, reaching up to wipe her forehead with her wrist, her other hand grasped in her skirt. “I had an appointment, and Claire isn’t my assistant. She’s...all of our assistants. She enjoys helping around backstage, bringing small things to one angel or another.”

“But the cabaret hasn’t been happening for weeks—”

Castiel scoffed and finally looked over at Dean, her eyes glittering irately. “What does it matter to you if I spend time with Claire?”

With a surge of braveness, Dean shrugged and smirked at her. “I just think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, squeezing through a group of loitering group on the sidewalk, waving away cigarette smoke. “I think it’s precious that you spend your free time hanging out with little orphans and buying them gifts.”

Castiel didn’t reply. Dean followed her around a corner, the smell shifting in the air to the cool, crisp scent of water coming from the marina. Ahead of them, the Hudson river shimmered orange and purple as the sunset in the sky, slowly disappearing under the horizon.

“Claire is one of the few children with no home to go to at the end of the night,” Castiel replied quietly. “The others have parents that they belong to, parents who spend weekends with them and pick them up from schooling in the afternoon, before the shows. Claire has no one but Jody to tuck her in, feed her, dress her, and teach her how to be a woman in a vicious industry. Jody is a powerhouse of a woman, but she is only one person. If I can help with Claire, I certainly want to. Jody needs time off, and Claire needs to be reminded that she has friends, she has support. I won't let her grow up to feel lonely or unwanted, I...”

Finally, Castiel looked over at him. Her face was strangely guarded. 

“...I don’t know why I’m telling you anything.”

“Because we’re friends,” Dean said with a chuckle, though the last thing he felt was amusement. Looking at this woman, friends was the last thing he wanted to be with her. Even when she was mad at him, with her lips pursed and jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed, she was still everything he wanted. But alas, friends was better than nothing. If she could agree to that…

“Friends,” she murmured, looking away. “I...didn’t know we were friends.”

They crossed the road. Dean still wasn’t sure where they were going, but they’d crossed over to the side of the street that lined the marina. To his surprise, Castiel stopped, leaning on the railing that separated them from the water, and she sighed, resting her elbows on the metal, her fingers linking together.

Dean settled beside her, leaning his hip on the barrier, joining her to gaze over the water and the boats that swayed gently over the still, vast surface.

“Well,” he joked at the boats, “we were friends with benefits, but those benefits have been rescinded for my bad behaviour. So friends will have to do, I suppose. Also, I’m hoping if I remind you that we’re friends that you’ll stop giving me the cold shoulder and walking away from me in the street.” Dean waggled his brows and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “My calves are burning from trying to keep up with you, not all of us have dancer legs.”

It seemed that even the Angel of Thursday wasn’t immune to Dean’s bad jokes, because her scowl wobbled a bit, betraying her as it tried to smile.

“You writers sit too much,” Castiel murmured, her blue eyes flicking away from the sunset to Dean’s legs, then up to his face. “You’re going to get flabby.”

The bark of laughter the surprised Dean by jumping out from past his lips echoed over the water. He was rewarded by a reluctant smile from Cas.

“How rude,” Dean choked, rubbing his lips with his fingers to try to hide his smile. “You aggressively withhold my only exercise from me and then call me flabby? That’s cruel, Castiel.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said, reaching up to tuck a wave behind her ear.

Dean looked over at her, his heart hurting. She looked astonishingly pretty in the magenta and orange light from the sunset, her eyes somehow making the water look bluer instead of the other way around. The soft breeze from the river blew flyaways round her face and shoulders. Her hands intertwined over the edge of the railing, looking pale and smooth. He wanted to reach out to touch her, but knew he’d managed to soften her up with talks to Claire and some terrible jokes that only she seemed to enjoy. It would be a shame to ruin the moment with a touch.

He watched her watch the ships dock before night, their lights rippling over small waves in the calm water. She leaned against the railing, elbows on cold steel. Dean watched her, aware that if she looked over, he probably was looking pretty dopey.

“You miss me?” he asked suddenly, his lip twitching up into a cheeky crooked grin. He couldn’t help it; he needed to know, to take advantage of this time when she seemed least annoyed with him as she’d been for weeks.

Cas huffed and shifted on her feet, scowling—though she failed to look too irritated as more waves escaped her braid and fluttered across her face with the breeze.

“Perhaps certain parts of you,” she replied quickly, her brow raised.

Dean’s grin widened and he leaned sideways against the railing, eyes boring into her head. 

“It’s my devilishly handsome face, isn’t it? Or is the big toe that kind of looks like Rudolph Valentino? I know you’re a fan of his—”

Castiel actually snorted and she turned her face towards him just a fraction, blue eye sweeping over his facial features before she looked back out across the harbour. 

“Certainly not.”

Dean pointed at her, knowing she was keeping him in her peripherals. With a snort, he offered, “It’s the freckles, isn’t it? How many are there? I know you’ve been counting, stalker.”

There it was. The small, pursed little smile that pressed her lips together as she fought the urge to laugh.

“Perhaps I’m talking about the freckles,” she murmured, eyes flickering down his body, “if you count the ones slightly down south from your face.”

Dean turned towards the marina too, now, his face hurting from smiling. He leaned sideways and nudged her arm with his shoulder. 

He was rewarded with a full turn of her head, and her chin rested on her shoulder. Blue eyes stared up at him, the annoyance she had been trying to maintain with him melted away completely. 

“You miss me,” Dean whispered tauntingly.

Blue eyes watched his lips and she nodded. “Perhaps. You know I appreciate our talks, our time together… However I enjoy boundaries and you don’t have those, so—”

He had told himself it would have ruined their interaction to touch, but he slipped his hand off the railing and pressed his fingertips against the back of her elbow. He turned towards her and sighed. 

“Castiel,” he murmured, closing the foot between them, leaving only inches. He was so close he saw the closed off look in Cas’ eye shift and change subtly when her eyes widened just a bit. He stared into her eyes. “I told you earlier; you can’t decide for me if being with you is too much. I know you told Hannah about me; that breaks the boundaries you set for us, too? I know we agreed to exchange orgasms and that’s it, but I have feelings for you and I think you have feelings for me too—”

“Dean, I—” She tried to move her elbow away, but Dean pressed his hand to her back, his fingers splayed, and she stopped, staring up at him.

“What’s the big deal, Cas? You fuck the duke, you come home to me, what’s the problem here? One day he’ll be gone, but I’ll still be here. Give me a chance, just let me—”

“You don’t understand,” she murmured, stepping away, slipping out from under his hand. Castiel twisted out of his grip, just barely. His fingers hovered in the air by her arm by a mere inch, but then he dropped it to his side at the look in her eye.

She was still, staring at him with intensity, with a strange wildness that he didn’t quite comprehend. Her knuckles were white around the railing.

“I had a lover, once.”

Whatever he had thought about her anger, it was not that _this_ was the cause. Whatever reason he’d thought she’d had about not wanting to be with him, this was last on his list.

“Meg?” Dean asked, perplexed.

“No,” she breathed, looking like she’d regretted saying anything. But then Dean sat her steel herself, her shoulders going back, her chin raising a bit.

Stiffly, she replied, “No. His name was Jimmy. It… It ended badly. What happened with Jimmy? It is one of my biggest regrets.”

“Talk to me about it then,” Dean rebutted firmly, though his heart hurt. “Tell me about him so I can understand.”

“No,” Castiel said quickly, shaking her head. She turned back towards the harbour, swallowing thickly. “Just be assured; Jimmy is the reason I don’t love anyone. It always ends badly.”

So there had been someone else. Charlie had hinted that Castiel didn’t love for a reason, and it made sense to Dean that she’d do it because someone had hurt her before.

“If I promise not to hurt you, will you give me a chance?” he tried, wincing.

Castiel sighed heavily, looking exhausted suddenly. She shook her head and tilted her chin down, her gaze on the water as it grew darker in the absence of the sun in the sky.

“It is stupid to love a woman who sells herself, Dean. It isn’t me who will get hurt.” She looked up at the horizon, now a dark purple, the only thing left of the sun was a sliver of orange glow. It reflected in her eyes, dark under thick lashes, glittering like the water’s surface. “I have responsibilities to the duke. I cannot be distracted, by my hurt or yours.” She looked over at him finally, her brows furrowed. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”

She was as stubborn as a brick wall, he determined. He realised quickly that nothing he’d say to her would change her mind. So instead, Dean took an alternate route.

“You’re right,” he replied, nodding slowly, rolling his weight from his heel to the balls of his feet. “What if… What if I tried to do better? We can go back to how it was with our original arrangement?” He shrugged and grinned. “Just be gentle with me; if I say I love you, ignore me because I’m just a fool, y’know? A bumbling writer who confuses reality with his stories.”

Castiel snorted. She nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve noticed certain...coincidences in the script.”

“Purely by accident,” Dean joked.

With a large sigh, Castiel turned to Dean again, her hip rested against the railing. Her eyes looked dark and tired, the bags under them hollow and dark. She searched his face.

“You...want to resume our arrangement?”

“Yes.”

Blue eyes narrowed, but to Dean’s relief, Castiel didn’t walk away from him or laugh in his face. She asked warily, “And you believe you can extinguish any flickering feelings? And not get jealous if I must spend time with the Duke?”

Dean leaned forward and nudged her chin with his knuckle. “And I promise to deliver on not only three orgasms, but three orgasms and a massage.”

“Those new conditions are tempting.”

“I’m a very tempting guy.”

The two stared at each other, Dean’s face hurting from smiling, and Castiel’s probably hurting from trying not to smile.

“No more talk of love,” Castiel insisted. “It’s not part of the arrangement, are we clear?”

“Can we get a three-strike policy on that, please? Your thighs make me wax poetic, I can’t be helped—”

Again, there it was; that little smile that broke the ice in Castiel’s eyes and instantly warmed up her face. It was such a lovely, peculiar little smile, like all of her features were apologizing for being genuinely touched or amused. 

“You’re quite ridiculous,” she whispered.

Dean leaned on the railing, resting his cheek on his shoulder as he flashed her a fox-like grin. 

“I heard you telling Claire you’d be with the duke tomorrow. Got any plans for tonight?”


	9. Singer's Saloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs sung/referred to in this chapter: 
> 
> 'Time to Dance' by the Shoes. Listen to it here: https://youtu.be/pt9wnawn7xQ?t=107

Weeks without seeing each other meant that Dean and Castiel had a lot of catching up to do. Not only did Castiel have a vast inventory of stories to tell from backstage of Rachel’s meltdowns, Meg’s inappropriate advances, or the Duke’s rejected attempts to sleep with her, but Dean and Castiel also had orgasms to catch up on.

By his count, he owed her approximately forty-two orgasms and at least fourteen massages.

By virtue of this catch-up, Dean’s bed found itself in use for many afternoons and evenings over the next weeks. To spare Charlie’s ears, Dean found use for a random blue tie he had in his drawer that he never used. It ended up being shoved in Castiel’s mouth to muffle her screams and moans when her squirting orgasms wracked her body and had her lose all sense of propriety. Sometimes the tie ended up around Dean’s head, his teeth clamped around it when she licked him from his asshole to the tip of his cock, and nearly caused a noise complaint.

In addition to Dean’s bed, they’d added a few other locations to assist in their catch up. Sometimes Castiel didn’t have time to come over after rehearsal or before a client. Sometimes, when she had to see the Duke, and had no spare time other than when she was getting ready, Dean was kind enough to stop by her dressing room and fuck her on the soft, carpeted floor there, among glittering dresses and abandoned feather boas.

Since their talk on the marina, Castiel had been careful about "encouraging bad behavior". Dean noticed a distinct lack of eye contact during sex, and she held him close when he would rather stare into her eyes. She spent a lot of time on her hands and knees, and he noticed, after a few tumbles, that he’d spent an awful lot of time staring at her back or the side of her face.

It was becoming painfully obvious that while Castiel was trying to dissuade him from investing feelings in her, the exact opposite was happening. As she was trying to withhold emotional connection from him, he only realised he was falling faster. He missed her wild gaze, he missed holding it while she came, and missed her intense kisses. And the thing was, she kept slipping. She kept forgetting she wanted to hold him at a distance. Sometimes, when they were three orgasms in and she was dripping in sweat, her body loose from release, her breath coming out in hurried panting, she forgot. She desperately held his gaze and dragged her fingers down his face, grasping at him while she rode out the sensations that brought her closer to coming again. Her mouth was hungry for him, nipping and biting, and her gaze was earth-shaking as she held his.

But that was only when she forgot, for those brief moments when she forgot that she wanted him to push her away, and she him. Sometimes, even if she didn’t forget on her own, Dean liked to help her forget.

She was fucking him in her dressing room. Dean sat on her bench in front of her mirror and she sat in his lap. The short red dress she’d been wearing at rehearsal still on her body, puddled around her hips and over Dean’s. She rode him enthusiastically, sliding up his cock before dropping down quickly, twirling her hips once he was so deep that he could hardly tell where she ended and he began. She held him close, her forehead on his shoulder. He knew, when she did this, that she was trying to make their interaction purely physical. They were fucking, not making love.

Hands gentle on her hips, Dean pushed her off. Castiel groaned in displeasure, but she stood in front of him, her legs shaking, her chest heaving in her dress. Dean stood too, crowding her space, sliding his hands over the side of her face, dragging his nails through her hair and cupping her jaw. She watched his lips and he knew the Angel of Thursday wanted to pull away, but Castiel wanted him. Dean captured her lips and felt her moan vibrate through him, rumbling against his chest. Her hand went down to grasp at his cock, or perhaps to roll his balls between her fingers, but Dean had other plans.

He slipped from between her and the bench, curling around her body. She watched with rapt, lustful blue eyes, breaths puffing from her lips in a carnal way, hungrily. Dean stood behind her, watching her watch him in the mirror, noticing her eyes jump from his, to his lips. His hands slithered around her waist, gripping for a moment before one hand snapped back, disappearing behind her. She caught his eye in the mirror only for a moment before he was bending her forward, getting her to stumble onto her hands and knees, her palms spread across her vanity, her knees on the plush red velvet bench. Her blue eyes were wide as her head snapped up to watch him in the mirror.

Her eyes rolled back and she moaned, her lipstick-stained red lips parting deliciously as Dean pushed her dress up around her waist and slid back into her, picking up their steady pace without missing a beat. He curled forward over her back, his chin resting in the soft curve between her neck and shoulder, his face half-turned into her hair.

Red fingernails dug into the vanity surface, splayed among adorn compacts and makeup brushes. In the mirror, Dean watched Castiel bounce back against him, her hair swinging back and force, brushing over her hands, tumbling over one shoulder and over her face, tendrils of slick waves swaying against her jawline. She was beautiful and ruined, a sheen of sweat shining over her face and her flushed chest. Her face, typically stoic and hard to read, was open like a book as she climbed closer to orgasm. While her lips parted and her brow furrowed, he could feel it happening around him, the shuddering and convulsing of her pussy around his cock alerted him to her impending release.

“Look at me, Cas,” Dean whispered.

Blue eyes snapped up to meet his in the mirror, eyes locked on his while his hand slipped over her shoulder and under her dress, fingers rubbing over a hard, taut nipple. His warm hand massaged her breast in the way that he knew made her wild. As expected, she shuddered under him, her legs sliding together, her legs tightening.

The way she orgasmed was gorgeous; her hand came up to hold his face, while her eyes never left his in the mirror, her release starting in her legs, making them tremble, before it shuddered up her body and escaped from her mouth in a series of rasping, desperate keening noises and moans. She stared at his face, and his name tumbled from her lips with every twitch and jerk of her body, and she only looked away when the aftershocks of her orgasm had her shaking like a leaf.

She forgot about encouraging bad behavior as she turned his face and held his stare purposefully, guiding him through his own orgasm with her eyes, and a lazy, playful smile on her lips.

“Come,” she whispered, leaning in, her lips barely touching his, only leaving a tingle as her hot breath danced over his lips. “I want to watch you.”

They both turned back towards the mirror, and locked eyes as Dean came, his arms wrapped around her tightly, his face ruined as he poured himself into her in more ways than one, losing himself in the cobalt ocean. She stroked his face through it, gently massaging her fingers through the damp, short hair above his ear.

“I love…” He swallowed hard, stopping himself as she froze, staring at him. With a gulp, Dean added, “...this. You, miss, are too good at this.”

The tense muscles under his hands relaxed, and Castiel nuzzled her face against his as his cock softened inside her and he melted a bit, snuggling back, sighing happily against her shoulder.

“I’ve had much practice,” she murmured, her blue eyes going soft in the mirror, her small smile a bit sad under the smudges of red lipstick.

“Hallelujah for that, angel,” Dean whispered, his own red smudged lips quirking into a grin. “Would you like to return to my quarters where not only do I have a mirror, but a bed? I wish to seek revelation, angel.”

Castiel seemed to grin, but he missed it as she dipped her head and curled her spine, pulling herself away from him slowly. They both moaned as he slipped out of her, and she scooted aside, making room for him to sit on the bench beside her.

As he tucked himself away, buttoning his trousers and working on the buttons of his white shirt, Castiel busied herself in the mirror, scrubbing at her ruined lipstick and tried to fix her wavy mane of hair.

As she twisted it into a braid, she glanced at him in the mirror, looking apologetic. “Unfortunately, I cannot. I’m expected for dinner with Naomi, Balthazar, and Duke Zachariah.”

“Skip it,” Dean replied, tugging a suspender over his shoulder.

The fox-like grin and wink he threw her in the mirror did little to dissuade her, but she didn’t seem to lose some tension in her shoulders.

“I can’t,” she said quietly as she pulled the braid up into a twist at the base of her skull, pulling at curls to make them look as if they’d fallen out beautifully on their own. She glanced at him in the mirror as he passed her the pearl and crystal hairpin he’d ripped from her hair earlier. “The Duke wants an update on the progress of the play, and Balthazar wishes to go over conditions of their deal. Naomi will want a report on the construction, and...well, it’s all very boring. But I must be there, both as the Duke’s escort and as Balthazar’s business partner.”

“And Naomi?” Dean asked, rubbing at his lips with a handkerchief. “I’ve seen her around once but she seems to be a big deal.”

Moving onto her face again, Castiel paused to press powder over her lips before she coughed a bit and waved the little cloud of light peach away from her mouth. “She is our landlord, Dean, but she owns many other properties in New York. Heaven is her least successful one these days, she hardly spends time here anymore. She did used to be here almost always before, years ago when… Well, nevermind about that. The point is, you will have to wait until tomorrow night to grace me with your charitable orgasms.”

“Naomi, she seems like a mean ol’ snake,” Dean pointed out. “I saw the way she spoke to you on that night a few weeks ago, at the last cabaret.”

The tube of red, waxy lipstick hovered over Castiel’s lips, and she glanced at him quickly in the mirror, before her shoulders relaxed again and she murmured, “She’s authoritative, but she’s helped me out of a few ordeals. Fixed me when I strayed from my purpose.”

Dean was all buttoned up and looked significantly less well-fucked, so he watched her artfully drag the red wax over her lips.

In confusion, he asked warily, “Fixed you?”

For some reason, Castiel winced, but she nodded, “Yes, I’ve...been known to make mistakes. Nothing I haven’t learned from, though.”

She busied herself by using a dropper to deposit a few drops of water into a small compact of black power. She mixed it into a paste with a tiny fan brush and got to work painting her lashes.

Dean scowled. “You gonna give me an example or keep just being all mysterious?”

Barely moving, she breathed carefully, as to not break her concentration. “It’s hardly your business.”

Downtrodden by her dismissive tone, Dean nodded. “Uh, right. I guess. Sorry.”

Castiel leaned back, surveying herself in the mirror, before she set down the fan brush and picked up a long, narrow brush, dipping it into the water and dragging it over the black powder. She rested her elbows on the desk and poised the brush over the edge of her top lashes, but then she paused, looking a bit regretful.

Gently, nudging Dean, she explained, “I tried running away once. I had been only providing services for a few months, but I… Well, I wasn’t partial to it so I tried to run away.”

“You?” Dean smirked. “Heaven’s favourite angel?”

Castiel dragged the brush over her lash line, pulling the black line up artfully into a wing. She dipped the brush in again.

“She saw me try to steal Balthazar’s car, but I was young and didn’t know how to drive it. I had no idea how to get it to start. She informed Balthazar and he came to get me.” She poised the brush again, but paused, staring at herself in the mirror, her eyes far away. “Found me a weeping, disgusting mess. She came to see me that night and...corrected me.”

Something in Castiel’s tone made Dean feel ice in his stomach. “Corrected?”

Castiel stared at herself in the mirror, then she said, “I got eighteen lashes. One for ‘every year I spent growing up to be an ungrateful little fool’, as Naomi put it.”

While Dean felt instantly ill, Castiel dragged the black line across her lash line again, calmly and artfully.

“Jesus, Cas…”

“I deserved it. I was given an opportunity of a lifetime to be a star. Naomi presented me with Heaven, with a stage to foster my talents and become something, and I threw it in her face, in Balthazar’s face. They clothed and fed and housed me. And I disobeyed. I tried to run.”

How could she be so calm? She was pulling powder through her brows now with a steady hand as she talked about being struck physically by her employer, and there Dean was, his hands trembling in his lap.

“That’s terrible…and the other ‘ordeals’? Did she ‘fix’ you then?”

That’s when Castiel lowered her brush and for a moment, a tiny, brief moment, he saw a flicker of fear over her features before she trained her face to go impassive.

“I involved myself with someone and…I made a mistake. She warned me not to and I did it anyway. The results of that misjudgment on my part were catastrophic. I hurt people. I...I cost heaven dearly and I truly think we’re still paying for it.” She stared down at the vanity, her finger turning a tube of lipstick idly. “I think Heaven’s bankruptcy is my fault.”

No wonder this girl had baggage about love. Dean reached up and pushed a curl back from her face, sliding it back over her shoulder. His fingers traced the curve of her neck.

“No, Cas. Something that big can’t be your fault.” Dean paused, a spark of anger flickering in his chest. “Is that what Balthazar tells you?”

Her heavy sigh was loud in the room. “No, but Naomi likes to remind me every time she sees me. Sometimes I feel she only wants me at meetings to remind me that this is all my fault.”

Dean’s stomach was a bit turned though, and he felt hot indignation on her part. “Does she continue to threaten you with lashings?”

Thankfully, Castiel snorted and rolled her eyes, diverting them as she busied herself tidying her makeup. “No, lashings are a thing of the past. When I got old enough that she feared the scars wouldn’t completely fade from my skin, she stopped. She does, however, still has ways to hurt us.”

Unsure why he wanted to know, but knowing Cas was open to telling him for some reason, Dean asked hotly, “What else has she fixed you for? What did you do?”

Or perhaps Castiel wasn’t open to telling him anything more, because she got up abruptly and walked over to a messy, busy rack of clothing. She pulled a deep purple evening dress from a hanger and shrugged out of her red dress, letting it puddle around her feet as she slipped the other over her head.

“I’ll tell you another time. You really must go.”

Dean’s mouth went a little dry as he was dismissed. Quietly, he got up, patting at his pockets to ensure he had his keys.

He paused at the door when a hand went around his fingers. Dean looked over his shoulder to see Castiel standing beside him, a soft expression on her face, though it was unreadable.

“Perhaps tomorrow I can come pay you a visit?” she asked, raising her eyes from their intertwined fingers. Her eyes glimmered even in the dull lighting. “If you have time.”

“Of course, I—” Then Dean paused. “Is tomorrow Saturday?”

She nodded.

“I have plans,” he said, surprising himself.

Castiel looked even more surprised. “You…have plans.”

A bark of laughter escaped his throat and Dean gave her a playful nudge with their linked hands. “Jeeze, Cas,” he chuckled. “No need to sound so skeptical. I do sometimes do things other than roll in the sheets with you and spend my evenings hunched over a typewriter.”

“What plans?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“My dad’s old buddy has a bar in the city. Sam and I were going to take some friends to the bar, having some drinks, do a bit of dancing.”

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Castiel interrupted, sounding suspicious. “And what friends?”

“I don’t,” Dean laughed, “but Sam does after a few fingers of whiskey, so I come along to witness that travesty. And hey, I have friends!”

“Who?”

Her disbelieving tone was almost offensive, but it was attached to her squinty face that warmed his heart, so Dean just smiled and shook his head. “She doesn’t believe I have friends...How rude. Maybe you’ll just have to join us tomorrow and see.”

Dean’s hand felt cold as Castiel pulled away and shrugged, adjusting her dress on her hips.

“I don’t think so, Dean. I should probably rehearse, and I have a very high profile client I have to service the next night, I should get rest…”

Her blue eyes turned up to meet his playful green ones as he curled a knuckle under her chin and tilted it up.

“Stop by at eight o’clock. Bring Hannah,” he murmured, leaning in to press a small kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Unless you’re too high class to party with us heathens, princess?”

He pulled away and she opened her eyes, flashing a challenging look. “Hannah wouldn’t come to that. Despite what you may think about angels, we don’t often ‘party’. We’re busy, we have clients to—”

“Hannah is already coming,” Dean grinned, amused by the way his confession made her jaw drop. “My brother invited her. I was merely suggesting that you bring her instead of Sam having to get her.”

“Hannah? But she never told me…”

Dean opened the door and stepped away, smirking. “Guess you’re not the only one with secrets. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You won’t.”

“Try not to dress like a full out princess. Keep the glitter and rhinestones to a minimum, your highness, this place isn’t as fancy as—”

“Excuse me?” she asked as her eyebrows shot up onto her forehead. “You should show me some respect.”

“Oh, I respect you,” Dean countered, and when Castiel scoffed, rolling her eyes and looking grumpy, Dean opened his arms and laughed, “I’m sorry, it’s just...It’s always glitter and cocktails and high heels around here. You’re so proper and poised.”

Castiel threw Dean a peeved look. “You are rude.”

Dean leaned on the door frame, his lips twisted into a grin. “Uh oh, the princess is not pleased with the gall of this peasant boy.”

Her unimpressed scowl twitched just a bit. The smile she was trying to hide made Dean throw his head back and laugh.

With a raised brow, she mimicked one of Celeste’s lines, saying dangerously, “I pulled you out of hell, I can throw you back in.”

Dean’s laugh was probably heard down the hallway. “Clever girl,” he giggled mockingly.

Castiel’s lips twisted a bit as she tried not to join him. “I should never let you come back here again.”

“You couldn’t stay away if you tried, sweetheart. You enjoy orgasms too much.”

Again, her lips twisted as she tried to hold back a smile. “Disgusting, you pig.”

“Such a princess.”

“I am _not_ a princess. Stop calling me that.”

He shrugged smugly, crossing his ankles and scratching at his stubble. “All right, Castiel. Prove it. Come with us.”

She shifted on the spot, licking her lips. He realised, with an interested little jolt in his chest, that she was nervous.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, flicking a curl over her shoulder.

If he ever told anyone how hard his heart beat with excitement in that moment, they would surely never let him forget it. He was potentially about to go out with the Angel of Thursday. The elusive, mysterious Castiel, the most desired woman in the city. It was exciting, but it also made his stomach twist into knots… He wanted her to have a good time. He wanted to show her what his lifestyle looked like.

What if she didn’t like it?

“You’ll see,” he said, deciding to be mysterious. “It’s a place were us low-lifes go for fun.”

Castiel swallowed, her eyes a bit wide. Then, after a pause, she looked down at herself. “What do I wear?”

‘Clothing,” Dean grinned. “Under-garments optional.”

Castiel scowled, putting her hand on her hip. “You are being deliberately unhelpful.”

“Let’s just put it this way,” Dean chuckled, scratching at his stubble. “Nothing with diamonds encrusted in it.”

Castiel tilted her head. “Why?”

“‘Cause you’ll get robbed.”

***

“When was the last time we even saw Bobby?” Sam asked, leaning over in his chair to top of Dean’s drink.

Charlie and Ash, who both sat on the ledge of Dean’s apartment, half on the balcony, half in the apartment, coughed around the thick smoke of marijuana.

“So w-who’s this guy again?” Charlie wheezed, wafting the smoke away from her face as Ash exhaled a cloud right at her.

“Friend of our dad’s,” Dean replied, throwing back his drink, shuddering pleasurably as it warmed his stomach. He needed to be as loose as he could without making a damn fool of himself. Castiel would be here soon and he had no idea what to expect.

“He basically half-raised us,” Sam added, taking a drag right from the bottle. “He used to own a pub in the local village near the estate our father worked for. When our father would go on long trips with the lord and lady, we’d stay with Bobby.”

“He’s gruff, but he’s a good man,” Dean nodded, getting up off his bed and crossing the room to the record player Sam had brought over from his apartment. “I’m actually kind of nervous about seeing him again.”

“Oh?” Sam asked, and when Dean glanced over his shoulder, he saw a devious smile on his brother’s lips, which never meant good news. “Are you nervous to see Bobby? Or are you nervous because Castiel is coming tonight?”

After Charlie had told Dean that Sam knew about him and Cas, the cat had been out of the bag in every sense. Over the last few weeks, poor Sam had heard nothing but Castiel-this and Castiel-that. Sam had developed what Dean liked to call Castiel-face when Dean spoke about her; his eyes went glazed and he said, “Mmmhm” and “oh, yeah?” while thinking about anything else completely. Dean forgave him, because Dean had done the same thing about Sam’s first girlfriend Jessica. He’d done his fair share of “Mhmmn”-ing in his day.

Charlie’s latest wheeze was half-wheeze, half-gasp, loud and punctuated. “What?! C-Castiel is coming?”

Sam’s smile faltered and he looked between Ash and Charlie, whose eyes were wide. “Um, is that not good?”

“Well,” Charlie looked between everyone, shrugging, “I mean, it’s fine. It’s just...we haven’t really spent much time together in years, and, um, does she even know where we’re going?”

Ash interrupted, smiling, his eyes beady. “She’s got her undies in a twist because she and Cas used to be besties.”

Charlie smacked him in the back of the head.

Dean turned from the music box and shrugged, “It’ll be fine, she—”

“It’s not that. It’s just… It’s not really her scene, you know,” Charlie laughed nervously. “She’s not like _us._ She’s, um, used to more glamour and—”

There was a few knocks on the door and everyone froze, exchanging looks.

Dean’s stomach twisted. Maybe this had been a mistake. If Charlie’s doubt was enough to go by, this was going to be a disaster.

“Well,” Dean said, slowly setting down his drink and rubbing his clammy palms on his hips, “it’s too late now. We’re just going to have to see what happens.”

Charlie quickly took the reefer from Ash, who yelped “hey!” and she disappeared into a dark nook of the balcony, hiding it from sight.

“What the hell!” Ash whisper-yelled.

Charlie harsh whisper sounded from the shadows. “The last thing I need is Castiel thinking I’m a big, useless stoner!”

“You _are_ a big, useless stoner!” Ash retorted, earning himself a hard punch in the shoulder when Charlie re-appeared and dropped down onto the window ledge.

“Shut up about being stoners!” Dean hissed before he opened the door.

To his surprise, Hannah stood in the doorway, a big cheerful smile on her face. Over her shoulder Castiel stood half in the shadows, frowning. It the same look of concentration she always wore, although as soon as she met his eye her shoulders went back and she smiled softly.

“Hi, Dean,” Hannah greeted, raising a gloved hand in a quick wave. Castiel stayed quiet behind her, peering into Dean’s apartment with an air of anxiousness.

Dean threw a cheeky raised eyebrow up, winking at Castiel. “Nervous to commune with us bohemian peasants, princess?”

The eye roll he received in return made his heart sing and his cheeks hurt from smiling.

“May we come in now, or is the party out here in the hallway?” Castiel asked flatly.

Dean stepped back, holding his arm out for them to enter. “Ladies, meet people you already know. People, meet Ladies you already know.”

Hannah walked in first. She waved to everyone and stood awkwardly, looking around the room. Castiel followed, allowing Dean to close the door behind her. Then she pointed up at the ceiling.

“I love the decor,” she pointed out, as if she’d never been there and hadn’t spent many evenings and mornings gazing at it in a post-orgasmic state.

“He’s working on the ceiling hole,” Sam said with a crooked smile that accentuated his dimple. “At least, I think so.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Dean grumbled over his shoulder, colour tinting his cheeks. For people who loved to tease him, everyone was doing a splendid job of pretending that they didn’t know Castiel had already been here.

“I can take your coat, Hannah. We’re staying for a bit longer, I think. Um, you want a drink?” Sam said, quickly getting to his feet and rushing to take her coat from her.

Hannah smiled as Sam slid her coat off her shoulders. “Sure.”

“What’ll you have?”

“Oh, just whatever you’re having,” Hannah replied, wrinkling her nose.

While the others turned back to making small talk with Hannah, Dean leaned in close to Castiel and murmured near her ear, “You never seemed to mind the view the few times you were lying on your back on my bed.”

Castiel seemed to choke on nothing for a second, pressing the back of her fingers to her mouth, before she squinted her eyes up at him and pursed her lips in defiance.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one on your back most often, Dean.”

With an amused head shake, Dean looked her up and down, drinking in the sight of her. She wore a white chiffon dress with a very low v-neck that stopped under her sternum, joined together by a thin sheer mesh. The hem stopped just under her knee, the same length as the trenchcoat that draped over her shoulders. Her long brown hair, parted down the middle, framed her face in tight, uniform waves, stopping down at her waist. His eyes’ journey up her body stopped at her face, his eyes lingering on the soft wash of rosy lipstick on her lips. Across her forehead, he note a dark blue headband that glittered in the light.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he teased, leaning in close, catching her eye. “Something just had to shimmer, didn’t it?”

“You said no diamonds,” Castiel replied haughtily. “You made no mention of sequins.”

“Knew it. Such a princess,” Dean whispered, before he leaned down and placed a small kiss on the corner of her mouth.

Quickly looking to see if anyone had seen him do that, Castiel looked flustered for a moment before she donned an air of defiance and tilted her head up.

“You’re an ass,” she clipped before pushing past him into the room.

Dean grinned to himself. Curiously he watched Charlie straighten up and walk over slowly to Castiel.

“Charlie,” Castiel said, and there was a weird tone to her voice, a weird softness. “It’s so good to see you.”

Charlie stopped in front of her and scratched the back of her neck. “We work together, Cas. We see each other all the time.”

“Yes. Um, right,” Castiel nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

Charlie shrugged, but her eyes softened. “It _is_ good that you’re coming with us though. It’s been a while since, um, y’know, we...spent time together, for, um...”

“For fun,” Castiel supplied quietly. “Yes. It’s been too long. I’m…I’m sorry about that, I—”

Ash hopped up onto his feet and clapped his hands together, sweeping in between Charlie and Castiel. The girls stumbled back and shot him twin peeved looks.

“All right!” Ash exclaimed, clapping again. “Ash has had his giggle-smokes and is ready to dance like it’s 1899!”

***

The band of party-goers poured out of a taxi and onto the bustling sidewalk of East Village, where the bohemian nightlife of New York City thrived. The streets were crawling with people dressed in all fashions and styles. The most prominent things were the colours and textures of dress and the punctuating sounds of laughter and the occasional bar fight tumbling out into the street.

Alcohol was supposed to be prohibited, but the street reeked of it and there were no fuzz around to keep it under control. The occasional police car that did drive by turned a blind eye. Hell, most police on the street were patrons of these speakeasies. Dean suspected that the same was true for Heaven, where he’d spotted the police chief more than once.

“Hope you like cheap beer and makeshift cocktails, ladies,” Ash chuckled, one arm lazily thrown around Charlie, while the other slung over Hannah’s shoulder. “‘Cause booze is costly and these saloon owners will try to water your drinks down as much as they can. Do yourself a favor if you wanna get nicely buzzed; order it straight and order it from Bobby.”

“Where are we going again?” Castiel asked from Dean’s side, her lips twisted into a frown, her blue eyes suspicious as they glanced around the street.

“You said ‘again’ as if I told you in the first place,” Dean said, tilting his head towards her, his eyes forward as they followed Ash, who weaved through the crowd easily. Castiel turned her head to observe the side of Dean’s face. She shuffled closer to him as a large group of people crowded the sidewalk, their arms flailing out to hail a taxi.

“Okay,” Castiel repeated, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Where are we going?”

Dean grinned and slipped an arm around her confidently, though it was a facade; there was sweat slipping down his spine and his stomach was in knots from the pressure of showing her a good time. “We’re heading to Singer’s Saloon.”

“Singer?”

“Bobby,” Dean confirmed, glancing down at her expectant, wide blue eyes. “He, um, kinda raised me and Sam when our dad would go off on work trips. It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“I see,” Castiel said, looking away, eyes following the other half of their ground as they chattered easily. “What can I expect from this saloon?”

Dean felt a spark of excitement in his chest. He leaned down, pressing his lips into her hair, grinning. “Not telling. It’s a surprise.”

Castiel’s eyes widened a bit and she swallowed nervously before she shrugged and said, “I’ve experienced many things, I’m sure I won’t be surprised.”

***

The look Dean had had on his face when he'd entered Heaven weeks ago was the same expression Castiel had on her face as the gaggle of friends walked down the narrow steps into the basement bar. She's forgotten to look proper and stoic as she always did, her mouth falling open and her eyes wide as she looked around Singer Saloon. Dean couldn't help but bite his lip and smile as he looked back at her; she looked terrified.

He couldn't blame her. Bobby's speakeasy wasn't anything like Heaven. Yes, alcohol flowed freely here and like Heaven, the cops turned a blind eye to what happened inside, but Bobby's wasn't a brothel. Bobby's venue was a dingy, low-lit basement bar and it was rammed with humans, all packed tightly like happy, drunk sardines. There was a crowd around the bar, sandwiched in tightly together elbow-to-elbow. The rest of the floor space, if not occupied by rickety black wooden tables and stools, was a dance floor.

The dancing here wasn't like the dancing in Heaven, though it was similar in its sexuality. People danced freely—some well and some poorly, but everyone moved to the odd music happily. Some people clung to each other erotically, others bopped around with their friends, while some moved their clumsy bodies in ways that only alcohol could produce. The music was odd and almost seemed like it was in the wrong decade, with a faster beat and rhythm than the popular jazz that crooned from radio stations or the mouths of dancers at Heaven. Dean supposed that it came with the territory; Bobby's bar was a place for misfits and bohemians, people with no money, big attitudes, and free spirits. He allowed bands and entertainers free rein, as long as they kept the crowds happy.

"What is this place?" Castiel asked Dean, having to raise her voice over the music and buzz of chatter.

"It's what real fun looks like, princess," Dean laughed back, grinning and winking at her. With a rush of bravery, he reached forward and took her hand. Even though his heart hammered in his chest when her fingers wrapped around his, he nodded towards the bar. "Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."

Castiel looked hesitant, but when she looked back to find Hannah, she relaxed. Hannah was right behind her, looking excited and curious, peering around the venue with a smile.

"This place looks real fun," Hannah yelled, tilting her head back at Sam, who towered behind her, just over her shoulder.

Sam nodded, adjusting the blue tie around his neck before putting his hands on her shoulders and urging her forward. Hannah grinned and tilted her head back down to squeal a bit at Cas. She reached forward and snatched up a lock of Castiel’s hair, ticking her nose with it.

“Cassie, isn’t this a blast?” she asked. Behind her Sam beamed at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Cas. Grab Hannah’s hand before we lose her to something shiny.”

Castiel shot Dean an unimpressed look, but took Hannah’s hand and followed him through the crowd. He led his group of friends up to the bar, elbowing his way through the crowd. Behind the bar, a portly man with a scruffy beard and a permanent frown on his lips was filling glasses with dark beer.

“Bobby!”

At Dean’s exclamation, the man looked up, eyes wide in surprise. Ignoring the dozens of people waving money at him, Bobby shook his head at Dean.

“You idjits decide to finally visit me on Saturday night of all nights? I’m busy!”

Dean threw down a wad of crumpled bills, retrieved from his pockets. With a wink, he said, “I’m a paying customer!”

“You’re a pain in my keister, that’s what!” Bobby snapped back, though Dean’s heart warmed. He missed this man.

Sam’s voice rung out from behind him. “Hi, Bobby!”

Bobby opened his mouth to greet Sam when someone from the crowd barked, “Who do we have to fuck around here to get a beer?”

With a scowl, Bobby went back to filling the pints in front of him. He threw Sam a wide-eyed look of disbelief. As if it was his first night being a bar owner, Bobby barked, “Balls, this is exhausting! IRV! GET OVER HERE, I NEED BACK UP!”

A middle-aged man, leaning over the bar on the far end, chatting to a pretty black-haired woman, was startled out of his flirtation by Bobby’s bark. He kissed her on the hand and turned around, sidling up to Bobby.

“Where’s the action?” Irv asked, grinning at Bobby and picking up a glass to wipe down.

“In your pants, apparently!” Bobby snapped, gesturing to the girl at the end of the bar who was still making lustful eyes at the seat of Irv’s trousers. “Put your cock away. I needja to take over for me, I got me some visitors. Pick a patron and get pouring, you slacker!”

Sheepishly, Bobby’s employee nodded and immediately started taking orders from the thirsty crowd. After rolling his eyes, Bobby gestured for them to meet up at the other end of the bar.

"Where's Rufus?" Dean asked cheekily, following Bobby down the length of the bar, dragging Cas, Hannah, and Sam with him.

The gruff man lifted the counter and stepped through the exit. Once it clicked back down, he turned to them and snorted, putting his hands on his hips, his worn brown vest tight around his middle.

"Sleepin' on the couch, that's where," Bobby grumbled about his partner. He and Rufus had been together since they were teenagers back in 1850. In secret, of course. The rest of the world knew them as business partners, but Dean's parents hadn't hidden Bobby and Rufus' relationship from them. He knew they were partners all right—just not only in business.

Bobby looked grumpy, as usual. "Decided to come home drunk off his gourd last night, broke my ma's ol' lamp and wore his shoes to bed. He's stayed home tonight to think about what he's done..."

Dean grinned. "He's cleaning your apartment, isn't he?"

"Better be sparkling when I get home or he'll be sleepin' in the streets tonight," Bobby grumbled.

"Hiya Bobby!" Sam greeted, making himself known as if he wasn’t already obscenely tall and red-faced. Already drunk from their pre-drink at the apartment, Sam let go of Hannah, pushed past them, and threw his arms around Bobby. "I’ve missed you!"

When they broke apart, Dean grinned at Bobby and nodded behind the bar, eyeing the plethora of half-empty bottles. "You got anything free for your favourite fake-nephews?"

"I got a bottle of ol' fuck you in the cabinet," Bobby snapped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his bar. "The only thing you're getting for free is dance floor and bowl of peanuts."

“I’ll take it,” Dean grinned, reaching forward to clap Bobby’s arm. “Sorry it took so long to get out here. Been meaning to but—”

“Been busy doing artsy-fartsy things up at that fancy brothel up the road?” Bobby yelled over the music, gesturing over his shoulder. “Yeah, I heard. Sam’s already visited with that one—” Bobby gestured to Hannah, “—during the day a few weeks back.”

Both Castiel and Dean looked over their shoulders in surprise, and found Sam and Hannah looking guilty.

“Wait, you’ve been here already?” Castiel asked, her brows tilted together. “You never told me!”

“Sorry,” Hannah said, looking like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She glanced over at Sam. “Must’ve slipped my mind! I mean, I didn’t come here at night. Sam and I dropped by for a bite a few weeks ago. There wasn’t any music or dancing, we just—”

“You came to visit Bobby without me?” Dean accused Sam, scowling. “Not cool!”

Sam, whose tongue was loose from the whiskey he’d drank back at Dean’s, shrugged. “You’ve been busy—” his eyes quickly jumped to Cas and then back “—on the weekends and Hannah and I were in the area—”

Waving him off, despite feeling indignation in his chest, Dena turned back to Bobby. “Bobby, since you’ve already met Hannah, I guess that just leaves Cas.”

Dean stepped aside and pulled at Cas’ hand, urging her to step forward, which she did, but with a nervous air to her.

“Pleasure,” Castiel said, her raspy voice breaking a bit as she was forced to yell over the symbols and drum beat. “Dean speaks very highly of you.”

Bobby slipped his hands in his pockets and snorted. “You’re the girl from the Supernatural posters, ain’t’cha?”

Castiel glanced quickly at Dean, but then nodded, reaching up to adjust her sleeve as it slipped down her arm. “Yes. That’s my likeness.”

“Almost hard to recognize you with all your clothing on,” Bobby replied.

“Really, Bobby?” Sam huffed, while Dean nearly groaned, knowing that Bobby meant nothing by it but a joke, but he was so gruff that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Castiel was offended.

To his surprise, Cas blushed, and smiled. “I’m wearing a lot more clothing in the play we’re putting on later this autumn. You should come watch, I’m sure Dean could get you seats. He is the mastermind behind the story, after all.”

“I heard,” Bobby smirked at Sam, but then winked at Dean. “Atta boy. Get Rufus and I some tickets and I’ll see if I have any free drinks behind the bar for you tonight.”

“Beside the old bottle of fuck you?” Castiel asked.

Everyone burst into laughter and Bobby rolled his eyes as he turned back towards the counter, ducking under it.

“Right beside it,” he replied, flipping a few glasses onto the mahogany bar with pizzazz and speed one wouldn’t expect from such a rough-around-the-edges barkeep. “Y’all take a seat and I’ll see if some drinks find their way over to you.”

***

This was crazy; taking Castiel to Bobby's bar? It was packed with poor bohemians like them; drunk, poor. Sure, everyone was hollering and jumping, dancing and smiling, the room was filled with smoke and laughter, clinking drinks, and stumbling, content party-goers, but it wasn't Heaven. It wasn't ritzy and classy, there were no oil paintings or sequins. She probably thought this was below her, he'd probably put the nail in the coffin, reminded her finally that he wasn't good enough for her, that he was poor, that he was a street rat like everyone else in this place—

She was laughing.

Hannah was jumping up and down, bopping along to the song the band was playing, clinging to the bottle in her hand and spinning. Castiel was actually laughing, watching her friend enjoy herself. Her blue eyes sparkled, even in the dim, smoky light.

She wasn't sneering or looking around distastefully. She was actually drinking from the bottle of free cheap ale without complaint, and she let Hannah take her hand, duck under it, spinning herself around.

"So," Sam said, picking up their conversation from earlier, his voice a bit slurred, but his eyes twinkling happily, "Were you ever planning on overtly telling me you’re involved with Castiel or did I just keep having to listen to you two getting nasty through the walls? I’d’ve liked to hear it from you, instead of gossiping about it with Kevin, Ash, Charlie, and Hannah.”

Dean sipped on his beer, taking a cigarette from Ash as he passed it over. “Don’t know what you mean,” Dean replied before taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke through his nose. “We’re friends. She comes over to go over scenes.”

Kevin, who sat beside Sam, choked on a throatful of smoke and washed it down with a swig of beer. He’d met up with them after his shift, and was drinking quickly to catch up to their level of drunkness.

Ash clapped him hard on the back, snickering.

“Oh, please!” Kevin groused, yelling over the music. “We all hang out in Charlie’s apartment on the weekends, and we haven’t seen you in weeks! You’re always ‘writing’, and listen, I dunno much about writing and the creative process, but I don’t think bumping uglies with the lead actress helps the creative process flow—”

“Oh, I think the creative process flows just fine,” Ash cackled, clapping himself on the chest as he hiccupped and rocked in his chair, tugging up his knee to prop his elbow on. He waved a cigarette at Cas and Hannah, who danced with Charlie now. Dean noticed Charlie hang closer to Hannah, but kept glancing up at Cas nervously, her smile tight.

“...I mean, I see how she’d fall for you,” Ash continued on, sucking on the cigarette and blowing it out in a stream through his nose. “You got that rugged, handsome artist thing going—”

“She’s not falling for me,” Dean interrupted abruptly, shaking his head, leaning across the table to pass the cigarette to Sam, who shoved it in his mouth and slid off his stool.

As Sam loosened the blue tie around his neck, he rolled his eyes, the cigarette between his lips wobbling with every word. “Dean. Come on. She’s one of the best actresses I’ve ever been partnered with, and she doesn’t even look at me the way she looks at you when our characters are supposed to be in some cosmic, prophesized love.”

“The girl is smitten,” Ash pointed out. Sam passed Dean the cigarette, and Dean dragged deeply on it, stalling so he wouldn't have to comment.

Kevin nodded in agreement, curling his hand around some peanuts from a wooden bowl in the center of the table. Raising his brows and throwing a peanut onto his tongue, the boy pointed at Dean and said, “Never thought we’d see the ice princess look at someone with such warmth, but here we are!”

Dean blinked at them, the ash on the end of the cigarette growing longer and wilting. He glanced between his friends at the table, feeling a strangeness in his stomach that had nothing to do with beer or peanuts.

“No,” he replied, snapping out of it and tapping the ash into an ashtray littered in old cigarettes and peanut shells. He took the spark of hope that grew in his stomach and pushed it down, away from his heart. “You boys have been smoking too much mary-jane. We’re friends. She just wanted to take a break from the Duke business. She has a night off and—”

“Complete-and-utter-bullshit!” Kevin cried out, tilting his head back. He waved his hands in the air, cheeks pink from the beer.

Sam laughed into his beer as he finished it off, and Ash snickered as he took a long, last drag from the short remnants of his cigarette.

Kevin tilted his head back down and shook his head at Dean. “You idiot. She has a high profile client booked tomorrow. Balthazar has been bugging me with preparations for it all day today. D’you know when she has luxury services booked like this she always takes the night off before, gets her beauty sleep, makes sure everything is ready; hair, clothes, the room...everything. And you know where she chooses to be now, the night before the freakin’ Mayor is supposed to be serviced to the edge of his life? Here, with you, in this smoky bar with your loser friends.”

The spark of hope in Dean’s stomach flared up again, dancing around his insides like it was wearing tap shoes.

Dean looked over at Cas. At the same time, Castiel looked at him too, stunning and shining in the middle of smoke and dim lighting, in a crowd of neutral fabrics and amber drinks gripped in people's fists. She smiled at him, small, red lips turned up in the corner.

"She's sure something, huh?" Dean murmured absentmindedly, smiling back at her.

Sam looked between him and Castiel, and grinned. "Yeah. She's something. Now go dance with her, because Charlie looks like she might faint, and I promised to buy Hannah one of those fancy shots Bobby’s come up with.”

“The wiggly rainbow shots?” Dean asked, a shudder of excitement in his stomach. “I loved those! He used to make those at the bar back home!”

“Those are the ones!” Sam chuckled, dropping his beer down on the table and fixing his hair, before he disappeared into the crowd, his head bobbing above everyone else’s towards the girls.

Dean turned back to the boys, resting his elbows on the table and raising his beer to his lips, only to find them staring at him.

“What?” he asked, scowling.

Kevin pointed out onto the dance floor. “You heard your brother.”

“Yeah,” Ash piped in, sliding off his chair and lighting another cigarette. He swung the match through the air, putting it out. “Get your ass onto that dance floor and show the girl a good time. She didn’t come all the way out to the east end for the decadence and beer, hombre.”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Dean rebutted, shrugging. Then he pointed accusingly at Ash. “I don’t see you shaking that flat ass.”

“Oh! OH!” Ash barked with laughter. He swept his hand down his body, flicking the long strands of hair growing from the back of his head over his shoulder. “The night is young, my artsy-fartsy friend. These shoes are dancing shoes, you see. M’bout to tear it up out there, and I expect you to join myself and your sloshed moose-brother.”

Dean looked over at Kevin, begging with his eyes for a scapegoat. Kevin rolled his eyes and pointed back at the crowded bar.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’ve got two left feet and a mighty thirst, so you’ll be finding me at the bar all night, Dean. But they’re right; show that girl a good time before she decides you’ve wasted her time.”

Left alone at the table suddenly, Dean put out his cigarette and swallowed the lump in his throat that had nothing to do with three pints of beer and too many cigarettes.

It was probably best that Dean showed up when he did, because Sam had Hannah spinning and bouncing in his arms, while Ash and Charlie were moving their bodies in ways that he thought they probably considered dancing, but most others would consider convulsions. Castiel was alone, without a partner, but swaying on the spot, watching the band flail around on the stage, her eyes curious, her mouth twisted into a bewildered little smile.

“You know, this is a dance floor, not a stand-floor,” Dean pointed out, shouting over the music as he approached her.

Although he was berating himself internally for the joke that fell flat, Castiel’s blue eyes turned on him, looking big under false lashes and rimmed in a smoky kohl. She seemed partially amused at least, shrugging and nodding towards the band.

“I admit, I know how to move to most music, but this...I’m not sure how to dance,” she admitted, glancing over at Ash and Charlie, who flailed and moved parts of their body that they had no business moving.

Dean snorted, placing his hand on her lower back and leaning in close to her ear. “Between you and me, no one in this place knows how to dance, so just go with it.”

He grinned at her when she stared up at him, but he felt the butterflies in his stomach go crazy as she took several long moments surveying each feature on his face and resting on his lips.

With a quirk of her lip, she said, “I thought you didn’t dance.”

“I don’t,” Dean grinned, “which is exactly why this place appeals to me. No one else does either.”

He broke her stoic exterior with that joke, and Castiel’s wide, red lips parted into a crooked grin that he’d seldom seen on her face. She tilted her head away to laugh, but he reached forward with a surge of confidence, and took her chin, tilting it back.

“Want to not-dance with me?” he asked, inhaling her perfume as she leaned forward, her lips inches from his.

Dean’s flirtation fell flat. Castiel blinked and asked, confused, “Are we not dancing then?”

“I was trying to be clever. It’s wordplay, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas eyed the twitching smirk on his lips and nodded. “I see, yes, don’t-dance with me. How...How do we start?”

A tall, skin man stepped up to the mic, and sang in a nasally voice, “ _Hey sister, come on kick the world...The world is yours, up to you, girl. It was so fun, you feel so strong, and now it's time for you to buuuuurn,_ ” the singer paused, raising a finger, then sang like a declaration; “ _Amen, it's time to dance!”_

“Great question,” Dean said, stumbling closer to her as the dance floor got more crowded. The music geared up from rhythmic drums to quick, pounding beats that were accompanied by the sound of triangles and a set tambourine.

“ _T-I...M-E-T-O-D--_ ” a younger girl sang into the mic, her Eastern European accent tinging the words with a playful bop. “-- _A-N-C-E-in the city! T! I! M-E-T-O-D—”_

“Probably gotta step closer—” Dean suggested as the girl kept spelling into the mic. He pressed his palm up against Castiel’s back, pulling her close. Castiel pressed her hands to his chest and nodded, biting her lip in amusement as he struggled to think of what to do next. “Um…”

Castiel leaned forward and slid her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “Perhaps we should move our feet.”

“Great suggestion,” he said, looking down at their feet, and followed her lead as she stepped from side to side. “I’m, uh, really nailing this.”

“I am very impressed,” she replied, and Dean nearly melted as she grinned crookedly at him again. “You are a great teacher.”

“Of course,” he joked. With another surge of alcohol-fueled confidence, he reached up and took one of her hands from his shoulder, holding it between their collars. In time with the beat, he moved his hips. He felt awkward compared to the smooth way she moved her body, curling back and forth from side to side like she was made of water and the music was pushing her through the air around them in waves.

Around them, the crowd started to sing back, spelling “time to dance” right back at the band as they sang. In time, around them, others started to bounce around, the crowd suddenly becoming one entity. Dean and Cas laughed as Ash and Charlie bounced out of time, their heads bouncing above the crowd as everyone around them landed on their feet.

The lead singer snatched up the mic again and he sang, “ _Hey brother, get up, check the wings! Check the wings, do what I do, it's what I feeeeeel._ ”

The girl in the band, interrupted, exclaiming, “ _It's what I feel!_ ”

The crowd kept jumping and dancing, whooping and hollering as the singer continued; _“Keep on walking on the way! Amen, it's time to dance!”_

Beside them, Sam was twirling Hannah, who laughed with her head tilted back, the beer bottle in her hand forgotten as her skirt twirled around her legs, the beads in her dress flashing erratically, reflecting the colorful lights that flashed from the stage. Dean turned to Cas, who bounced a bit in his arms, her curls jumping around her shoulders and down her back. She looked happy and amused, watching Hannah.

_“T-I...M-E-T-O-D!”_

Dean pressed his lips quickly to Cas’ temple, demanding her attention, which he got immediately, as she snapped her head back in his direction, her eyes wide, shocked at his public display of affection.

Before she could protest, he beamed at her and bounced with her too, singing at her, “-A-N-C-E-in-the-city! T-I-M-E-T-O-D—”

He couldn’t hear her as the drums got obscenely loud and the rest of the crowd join in, singing gleefully, their voices filling the room, but Castiel joined in, yelling the words at him, looking beautiful and delighted under the flashing lights.

As the song continued, they got closer, their chests pressed together, lips locked, and they both forgot about their deal. Castiel forgot to act like just his friend, and Dean forgot about his promise to keep their affair behind closed doors. Under the smoke that curled above their heads like a shelter, and between the backs and shoulders of strangers, the two danced close together, singing the lyrics into each other's lips, grinning and using the breaks in lyrics to kiss, noses bumping, their sweaty foreheads pressed together. Dean was probably covered in glitter and red lipstick, but he hadn't felt this happy in a long time, relieved that Castiel was not only having a good time, but looking at-home and relaxed in his arms. Her hands weren’t shy as they slid down his chest again and around his waist, tugging him closer to her as she kissed him deeply, forgetting about their friends and strangers, or propriety.

One excited, loud song ended and melted into another, but they kept dancing. Their friends came and went, and drinks were brought onto the dance floor by Kevin, who at some point became drunk enough to partake in a bounce and shimmy himself. The friends danced together on the floor as the night went on, and after a few hours, Castiel was laughing freely along with everyone else, and Dean discovered he wasn’t as bad of a dancer as he thought, twirling Cas and dipping her along with the best of them.

When it was time to leave, as the crowd thinned and Kevin began whining about his feet hurting, the friends left the bar. Dean and Sam drunkenly hugged Bobby, who rolled his eyes at their sloppy embrace, but still returned the gesture whole-heartedly, offering them more peanuts and beer if they came to visit during the day where a catch-up was realistic.

The friends pooled out into the street, Ash lighting a cigarette and popping it into his mouth, too drunk to realise he already had one lit and bobbing on his bottom lip. Charlie swayed out over the sidewalk, singing under her breath and bobbing her head, swinging around in circles under the lamplight.

“T-I-M-E-T-O-D!” Hannah sang into the night, her arms around Sam’s broad shoulders as she got a piggy-back ride from Sam. The blue tie that had hung off Sam’s neck all night was now tied around her head, flopping against her cheek. “Blah, blah, blah, it’s time to DANCE!”

“Come sister, come on take the wooooorld,” Sam sang back, laughing in between breaths, “something-something it won’t be looong!”

At the back of the group, Dean and Castiel grinned at each other. With his arms slung around her shoulders, Dean leaned down and whispered into her hair, “These peasants, so sloppy, huh?”

Castiel smirked, her head tilting back onto his shoulder as she stumbled, one foot crossing over her ankles as she walked.

“Says the man with red lipstick smeared all over his lips...and neck,” she pointed out.

Dean rubbed at his mouth, pulling his hand away to stare at the red smudges on his skin. He grinned at her, showing her his hand.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one latched onto my neck in the dark, secluded corner by the washrooms. Such impropriety for a princess—oof!”

The smack Castiel aimed at his stomach was well aimed. “Silence, I won’t have a mere mortal mocking me.”

Kevin plucked a cigarette from Ash’s lips and turned around, walking backwards down the dark sidewalk, pulling his coat together with one hand. He waved around at everyone.

“Don’t you all have a scene to rehearse tomorrow?” He grinned, eyeing Sam, who stumbled a bit and was only saved from crashing down onto the pavement when Hannah grasped onto a nearby lamppost, her amused squeal making a group of smokers on the curb-side startle.

“What’s your point, Kevin?” Sam snapped, regaining his balance and adjusting Hannah on his back. “Hangover be damned. Hell, it’ll be in-character for Daniel to be hungover.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped, offended. Daniel was, after all, based off of himself.

Sam grinned, and nodded over at Dean as they all stopped and let Charlie attempt to wave down a taxi. His eyes went crossed looking up at Hannah, who rested her chin on his head and waved her arm madly, also trying to wave down a taxi.

“Whatever,” Dean snorted. Then he peered down at Cas, who watched him with a weird smile on her face, her cheeks tinted pink. “You coming to the reading at my place tomorrow?”

“I suppose I’ll be there,” she grinned.

“Of course she will,” Hannah giggled. “I suppose she’ll be sleeping over tonight!”

Almost everyone gasped, while Castiel groaned. Kevin snorted and Ash chuckled in a wheeze.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised,” Kevin groused, taking a cigarette that Ash offered him. Through a cloud of smoke, he said thickly, “We all watched you two suck face all night. Your little arrangement is hardly a secret.”

Castiel bit her lip, her breath curling out from between her rosy lips, her brows furrowed. With a sigh, she said hesitantly, “The duke can’t find out.”

“Don’t worry, Cas,” Charlie said, looking over her shoulders, her eyes soft. “We don’t tell nobody, we swear. Heaven means a lot to us too, and… Well, you’re our friend, too. We wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble.”

As a taxi pulled up to the curb, and most of their gaggle climbed in, a soft look was exchanged between Cas and Charlie that made Dean’s heart flutter. He knew they used to be friends, and understood that a rift had happened, so he couldn’t help but feel warmth by association as they seemed to be making amends in front of his very eyes.

“There isn’t enough room!” Kevin said to Dean and Castiel, as Charlie climbed on top of Ash to squish into the backseat.

“We’ll grab another cab,” Dean said, pulling Cas closer, his cheek squished against hers as they grinned at their friends. “See you tomorrow, bright and early for the read-through, folks.”

Sam leaned over everyone, causing Hannah to squeal as he man-handled her out of the way. His drunk finger shaking, Sam slurred, “Listen, you two keep it down tonight, I gotta sleep.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but to everyone’s surprise, Castiel spoke first, smirking. “We make no promises.”

She clapped the top of the cab, and Dean’s howl of laughter mixed in with the rest of the group’s as the taxi sped off into the night.


	10. Rusty People Skills

The read-through of the new scene took place at Sam’s apartment instead of Dean’s as initially intended. Castiel and Dean’s sleepover ended up being not only loud, but very wet as usual. The room was a mess, his bed was damp, and Dean was too hungover to clean much the next day. Castiel, despite miraculously not being hungover, had been too busy giving Dean an erotic wake up call with her mouth to bother cleaning anything. 

After finding Castiel something to wear—he amused himself by convincing her to wear a pair of his slacks and one of his white button-up shirts, claiming she couldn’t show up to a hungover gathering of friends in a fancy dress—they headed over to Sam’s. 

Then, they’d appeared at Sam’s doorstep with Charlie in tow. Hannah was already there, sipping coffee on Sam’s balcony, and rushed to her feet to pour everyone else a cup as Dean handed out scripts of the new scene. Once they were all caffeinated, they began. Everyone was surprisingly alert despite the alarming amount of alcohol they’d all consumed, although Sam read his parts from the bed, and Hannah lay by his feet on her stomach, her legs swinging back and forth lazily.

Feeling much better, Dean walked around the room as he explained his vision for the scene. “...and then, Zyon _rips_ Celeste back to Heaven. He tortures her back into submission, and when she comes back, she says—”

He pointed at Cas, who shook her thick mane of messy curls and stood up straight in her chair, crossing her legs. Reading from the script, she said with a tone of restrained anger, “ _I learned something while I was away, Daniel. I serve Heaven. I don’t serve man._ ” She looked up at Sam dramatically. “ _And I certainly don’t serve you._ ”

From the end of Sam’s bed, Hannah gasped. 

From the floor, where she was sewing a beige coat, Charlie chuckled.

Dean pointed at Hannah. “Right!? Daniel is left heartbroken, thinking Celeste doesn’t love him anymore. He doesn’t understand, he is shattered. But what he doesn’t know is that Celeste was threatened in Heaven, told that she was falling too close to the humans in her charge. She was told to lie, to convince Daniel that she didn’t love him.”

Dean turned on Cas, who laughed lowly, her raspy giggle making Dean’s heart flutter. He reached out to her and she took his outstretched hand, allowing him to yank her onto his feet. “Oh, but Dean, love is an amazing thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all we need is love—”

He understood that she was quoting him, reaching back in time to months ago when he’d argued with her about love on the balcony of Heaven. Dean yanked her against his chest, shaking his head at her, their lips inches apart. “You little imp! How dare you mock me?”

Sam and Charlie booed as they nearly kissed, and Hannah giggled. “Quit with the necking, it’s embarrassing,” Sam cried out. “Get on with the scene!”

Charlie waved her hands in the air, struggling to her feet. “Wait, no! Let me try this on. Cas, get over here!”

Dean groaned as Castiel was tugged away, her hair spinning over her shoulder as Charlie manhandled the costume over her arms. 

“There!” Charlie exclaimed. “I think I’ve finally got it! What about that?”

Castiel spun on the spot, pausing to pose for Dean, who stared at her with stars in his eyes. She was just like he’d always imagined the angel in his dream. Charlie really had nailed it.

“I mean,” Charlie said, bustling around Cas, tugging and adjusting, “it’s a bit big, but it can be fixed! And obviously, she wouldn’t be wearing men’s slacks and a button-down, but—”

“No,” Dean interrupted, his eyes dancing over Cas’ figure, admiring the beige trenchcoat hanging over her shoulders and swinging around her knees. “It’s perfect. It’s just how I always pictured the angel. She’s...not human. She doesn’t quite grasp aspects of humanity, y’know? She doesn’t know it’s strange to wear men’s clothing. She doesn’t know the outfit is ill-fitting. Charlie, she’s perfect.”

Everyone was silent as Dean stared at Castiel, and Cas smiled back, her eyes twinkling in the morning light as it shone through the window. Charlie’s mouth was dropped.

“Dean, it’s like two sizes too big!” she argued, aghast.

“Dean says it works,” Castiel piped up, her voice calm, her tone warm. She continued to stare at Dean and he wasn’t even sure she’d looked down at herself yet. “I trust him.”

Charlie huffed, but stood up, taking a few steps back to look at her work from afar. “All right,” she conceded with a sigh. “I suppose it works for the character...but something is missing. It’s all very bland. We need a pop of colour.”

“Oh!” Hannah exclaimed, struggling onto her knees. “I know!”

Everyone watched her lean over the edge of the bed and pick up Sam’s tie off the floor. She passed the dark blue accessory over to Charlie, who gasped.

“Perfect!” Charlie exclaimed as she looped the tie around Cas’ neck, loosening it just so. “It really brings out her eyes!”

She stepped away from Cas, who finally looked down at herself and looked perplexed. She lifted her head and asked Dean with a brow raised, “Is this right?”

Dean lifted his hand and made a circle with his thumb and pointer finger. ‘Oh, it’s more than right. It’s perfect, Cas. You look like Celeste. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the angel I’ve been dreaming about.”

Everyone else in the room exchanged grins while Castiel and Dean stared at each other, lost in another gaze that no one would be able to shake them out of.

***

Back in her dress from last night, Castiel and Dean walked through the entertainment square, up towards the front doors of Heaven. The court was nearly empty, save for some children playing near the front gates, and a few beggars gathered in the corners near the far stone walls. Most people, on a late morning, were typically in church. 

Castiel’s heels clicked over the stone of the front steps. 

“Thank you for showing me Singer’s Saloon,” she said, turning to look down at him from the landing in front of the heavy oak doors. Her dry lips, stained rosy from the lipstick she’d worn last night, turned up into a small smile. “To see how you peasants live was enlightening.”

Dean grinned from the step below her, shoving his hands in his pockets, realising that she was actually joking around with him. 

“You’re very welcome, your highness,” he replied. “Thank you for accompanying me. I hope you had fun.”

“I did,” she replied.

They stared at each other again, the warmth from the sun shining above them feeling almost cold in comparison to the warmth in his chest. Dean stepped up, taking in her messy braid and makeup-less face, thinking she looked the most stunning as he’d ever seen her.

Look around quickly and seeing no one of importance, Dean took her by the hand and tugged her into an alcove beside the door, pushing her up against the stone, hidden between a L-shaped wall of cold rock and another glass wall looking into Heaven. He captured her lips hungrily, tangling his fingers into her hair. 

With a small sigh against his mouth, Castiel kissed back, a hand slipped over Dean’s waist, the other reaching up to hold his chin in her hand, guiding his mouth to open wider so she could slip her tongue against his. It was demanding, but it made his heart pound against his chest harder, and his stomach to flutter blissfully.

He pulled away, eyeing her swollen lips and grinning when she reached up to wipe her mouth. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” Dean breathed, dipping his head forward to swipe the tip of his nose against hers.

Castiel’s chest rose and fell deeply, her breathing a bit erratic. With a look of regret, she shook her head, stepping away from Dean, ducking around him.

“I can’t,” she said, turning to look at him, walking backwards towards the doors of Heaven. “I have a client tonight.”

Dean’s heart felt significantly less warm and the butterflies in his stomach calmed, their wings wilting. 

“Right,” he cleared his throat. “Of course. Good luck with that. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow for the official rehearsal of the new scene? Nine AM, bright and early.”

She smiled tightly and nodded, “Yes. Goodbye, Dean.”

He waved as she opened the doors and disappeared, the fluttering fabric of her dress was the last thing to disappear before the doors shut with a heavy thud.

Dean stepped out of the shadows, back into view of the courtyard, and despite the sun shining on him again, he felt cold now. With a stomach that suddenly felt full of stones, he tugged a cigarette from the scrunched pack in his pocket and lit it, hoping for a bit of a headrush that could distract him from the sour feeling in his chest the felt a lot like jealousy.

Patting around his pockets, Dean realised he’d lost his matches at some point, groaning up at the sky. Great. This was the last thing he needed.

“You need a light?” 

Dean jumped at the voice because he’d thought the closest souls in the courtyard were the small children playing hopscotch by the gates. He immediately felt a chill down his spine as Uriel, the security guard for Heaven, stepped out from the alcove on the other side of the doors, a cigarette between his fingers and a box of matches in his other hand.

The knowing, accusing glitter in Uriel’s eye made Dean feel sick. He must’ve seen them. There had been no way he hadn’t. 

“Eventful night?” Uriel asked as Dean hesitantly nodded and took the matches from him.

After striking a flame, lighting his smoke, and extinguishing it with a flick of his wrist, Dean took a pull from the cigarette and said with avoidance, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I could say that, and I do,” Uriel remarked, his lips quirked up in the corner. His hooded eyes bored into the side of Dean’s face so intently that Dean didn’t have a choice but to meet them. Uriel was both smug and angry, his eyes cold even though his features seemed amused. “No one spends a night with Castiel and says it’s uneventful afterwards.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean retorted tightly, shrugging, slipping a hand into his pocket just so he could curl it into a fist. Fuck. He didn’t know Uriel too well, he had no idea if he could be trusted.

But the other man chuckled darkly, lifting his smoke to his mouth, and taking a pull. “It’s Heaven’s worst kept secret right now, boy. We all know something’s goin’ on, and no one is sayin’ what just yet, but if you two keep playing it fast and loose like this, it’ll be out in the open before you even know what hit you… And, boy,” Uriel added, his voice becoming so cold the temperature around them seemed to drop, “if it does come out in the open, I _will_ hit you. You’re fucking with our home, and that’s no joke.”

Dean forgot all about his cigarette, his fingers cramping around it as he stood dangerously still. He suddenly found himself breathless, staring at Uriel.

Grey smoke poured out of Uriel’s mouth lazily, before twisting and curling up into nothing. With a smirk, Uriel leaned in and whispered, “It’s not just you, boy. Don’t look so guilty. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but Castiel, she has this weakness, you see. She _likes_ you.”

There it was; another person who saw what was going on. Despite how much he wanted Castiel to be falling for him, Dean felt nothing but panic now that it was someone outside of their trusted circle saying that they saw it.

“I’m the writer and she’s my star,” Dean replied coldly. “We’re spending time together, but it’s not what you think. We’re just rehearsing.”

Uriel leaned away, chuckling darkly. He flicked his cigarette away and slipped his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. 

“Say that to the glitter on your face and the lipstick on your neck, Winchester,” Uriel said coolly, giving Dean one last smug once-over before he walked down the steps, leaving Dean shaking.

Uriel hadn’t said he would tell anyone, but Dean didn’t know if he would keep the secret for much longer. Uriel had said everyone knew. 

This was bad. This was really bad.

Dean watched Uriel disappear through the front gates. Eventually, Dean made himself move, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling heavier as he carried on home. 

Something was going to go very wrong, he could sense it.

***

She wasn’t sure what’d gotten into her. She’d made Dean promise to hold up his end of the bargain, to treat her platonically, to fuck her like they’d arranged but nothing more, but there she’d gone, accompanying him out for an evening. She’d danced with him, kissed him in front of all his friends, fallen so deeply into him all evening that she’d completely forgotten to pull herself back out when the morning had come. She wished this wasn’t happening, but it was; she knew she should have woken up early and left his place, but waking up with him felt right, felt good, felt warm and true. 

He’d pulled her into the alcove to kiss her and she’d let him. Hell, she’d returned it with fervour, feeling hunger for his lips, feeling so ridiculously entangled in him that she didn’t even think to say no, to remind him of their deal.

Her heart was fluttering, dancing, pounding in her chest as she entered Heaven, and a smile was uncontrollable on her lips, nowhere near fading away. She had to sleep with the Mayor tonight and she knew she should be focused on that, but all she could think about was how she’d rather be sleeping on Dean’s uncomfortable bed, or sitting with him on his balcony, talking and smoking until it was so dark outside that they had to sit inches apart to see each other’s faces.

“Castiel!”

Her walk from the door to the step up to her service rooms was cut short by a snarl that made her blood run cold. Castiel stopped on the first step, her hand on the railing. Gathering herself, she turned to look at Balthazar with her face blank.

“Good morning,” she said to her boss and best friend, stepping back down onto the floor, her hand slipping from the marble. “Is everything arranged for tonight, Balta—”

“Everything,” Balthazar whispered furiously, striding over to Castiel quickly, his eyes ablaze, “except the key player! Where have you been? It’s nearly noon. I went to your rooms last night to go over everything and you were _not_ there.”

Despite the hammering of her heart, Castiel shrugged, looking bored. “I was sleeping in Hannah’s room. We fell asleep going over lines—”

“Lies,” Balthazar hissed, stopping in front of her, so close he could whisper and still be loud. His eyes swept her face, narrowed and accusing. “Hannah has been missing, too. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not—”

“Cassie,” Balthazar warned, tilting his head, “I know you better than most. I know you’re lying. You are a good actress, but the puzzle piece doesn’t fit. You never go missing like this, Cas, not unless… Not unless you’re...”

She knew what he was referring to and Castiel’s mask faltered. She stepped away and looked down at the floor.

She stayed silent, slowly overcome with guilt. It washed over her like an egg had been cracked over her head, soaking into her like poison, sliding over her skin like sludge.

A gentle hand under her chin urged her to meet his eye. Balthazar frowned, but his eyes weren’t unkind.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“No one,” Castiel whispered.

“Whoever it is,” he whispered. “Break it off. We have too much at stake.”

“It was just once,” she murmured back, her stomach sinking as she lied again. “I just...needed one night off.”

Her stomach rebelled, forcing a wave of nausea through her as Balthazar kissed her forehead and nodded. The gesture would normally make her feel warm and appreciated, but under the weight of her lie, she felt unworthy of the trust he put in her.

“I understand, cherub,” he conceded. “You...work very hard. I appreciate everything you do. Just ensure it ends. The duke will be here more consistently as the play ramps up and the construction finishes. He’s been out of town on business, but he is to arrive tomorrow morning. You know he’ll want to see you more often, and you know he’ll expect your affections. It’s part of the deal, it’s part of our strategy. He has to believe you want him, darling.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied quickly, her eyes unblinking as they bored into Balthazar's. “Of course I know that. I’ll do what it takes for Heaven. I would do anything to save us… And I learned my lesson with Jimmy. I—”

Balthazar nodded sadly. “Jimmy. I...I know how you suffered with that, my love. I remember. I’m sorry to have gotten angry. Just...go get ready, you look a mess. I’ll have everything arranged for tonight. The mayor is to arrive for dinner with you at seven o’clock. Wear red, curl your hair, wear the sweet perfume, and a corset. Don’t wear undergarments, you know how he likes that.”

Castiel nodded and forced a smile onto her face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The sad glint in Balthazar’s eye didn’t fade, but he laughed under his breath and patted her arm before he walked away. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured. “Those are the lies I want to hear.”

***

The mayor was an older man, but handsome. He was attentive, and very high profile in terms of Castiel’s client base, so she turned up the charm to one-hundred, using every trick in the book she had from her long career as a sex worker. She ensured she was smooth and smelled nice. Her service suite had been cleaned and prepared intricately by Balthazar, ready with a cool bottle of champagne and fresh fruit. The silver pump bottle by the bed was refilled with lubricant, and the toys the mayor liked were neatly positioned on a bench at the end of the bed. Restrains, whips, and feathers were played side-by-side like it was a showcase of the freakish and strange.

She used them on him after dinner, after feeding him fruit with her mouth and letting him drink champagne off her muscled stomach. She took him deeply in her mouth and rode him for hours, dragging feathers over red welts on his skin that she’d inflicted with a whip. Afterward, she kissed him, though she never closed her eyes, and cared for him dotingly. She knew it was what kept him coming back; she hurt him like he liked, and cared for him afterward with words and touches, and oils that she rubbed into his skin. 

She didn’t particularly like this type of sex, but the mayor was a regular of hers and after the gift he’d given her, it was her responsibility to ensure that he got the experience he desired. He wanted to feel like she loved him, and she was an actress. She would act like she loved him through dinner, and sex, and she would act like he was her entire world until the morning, after she’d “made love” to him again and kissed him goodbye at the door.

At least, that was how it normally went. That’s how she and Balthazar had planned. Everything, every move, every choice they’d made in preparation had been decided in this way, for that conclusion. 

Castiel was not prepared for the next morning to take an awful turn. She could not have predicted that she would wake up with a hand around her neck and one of her hands in the process of being tied to the headboard. Nothing could have prepared her for the tables to be flipped, and for the mayor to ignore her when she’d asked him to stop, or told him she didn’t want this. She didn’t want it, she didn’t like it, and it was alarming. 

She hadn’t foreseen having to use the angel blade on him.

Normally, on regular nights, Heaven had security. They had Ellen and Jody to look out for them. Uriel prowled the service corridors with a mean look on his face and his eyes alert for any shenanigans. He kept a good eye on the angels, and a sharper eye on the patrons that paid for services with wagged dollar bills in the air or slipped into the top of corsets. 

But once in the rooms, there was little that could be done if one of the angels needed help. There was a rope by the head of each bed connected to a bell outside the door, a bell one of their security angels could see. Castiel had one of the ropes at the head of her bed too, even up in her luxury service quarters.

Unfortunately, the bell had been useless to Castiel as the mayor had gotten too handsy, been too rough, tried to hurt her. 

It wasn't her fault that she got arrested, it was his fault. He should have listened, he should have followed the rules of Heaven. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have ended up on the receiving end of her angel blade to the temple and a knee to the crotch. 

Maybe he'd be bleeding much less furiously from a stab wound in the arm if he hadn't left a bruise on her jaw and hand print around her neck.

***

The next morning, Dean woke up early, though it was less because he was a morning person and more so because his sleep had been restless. He’d spent a majority of his night laying on his back, staring at the hole in his ceiling and imagining the mayor’s hands all over Castiel’s body. Even a light buzz from the whiskey in his flask beside his bed hadn’t numbed the roiling of jealousy in his stomach that twisted like a snake and made him feel sick like he’d been poisoned.

He spent the morning writing, trying not to let his envy bleed onto the page and taint his words. He made copies of the script for the rehearsal, and eventually, gathered his things. Rehearsal would start in a couple of hours, so he wanted to be there to set up and see if Ellen felt like serving him breakfast at the bar. He needed something in his stomach if he was going to smile and look at Cas without feeling nauseous over her night with the mayor.

He expected a few angels to be lollygagging in the lobby, or for Jo and Ellen to be cleaning up the main room—as they usually did on weekends now that construction left the place covered in dust—but Dean certainly didn’t expect the scene he walked into.

Balthazar, the Duke, and the police chief stood around the aisle seating, right near the doors in the back of the auditorium—once the dancefloor. Seated in the middle of their semi-circle, sat Castiel, her legs crossed, turned towards the aisle with a sour look on her face. She shifted in her seat, her hands behind her back, scowling up at the police chief, who was arguing fervently with Balthazar. Her eyes dragged from one irate man to the other, her scowl deepening and her eyes rolling. The men were arguing, talking over each other, their hands flailing. The Duke was silent, but his eyes were furious, shining angrily, his lips pursed in a manner that meant nothing good.

Balthazar looked about ready to throttle the police chief.

“I demand that she be taken out of handcuffs at once!” Balthazar barked, spit flying in the police chief's face. “This is a farce!”

Dean’s mouth dropped as he approached the commotion. He couldn’t decide where to rest his eyes at first. Balthazar looked ready to lunge at the police chief, Zachariah was standing beside him, silent but wearing a murderous look on his face, and Castiel was sitting on one of the chairs between them, her face dark and stormy.

A bruise was blossoming on her jawline. She was in lingerie, but Dean didn’t miss the fact that one of the straps was ripped off and her knees were bloody and skinned, like she’d been dragged or she fell.

It took everything in Dean not to rush over to her. Instead, he stopped at the edge of the commotion, staring at her, his eye a bit wide. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag.

“...she attacked the bloody mayor, Balthazar! This behaviour is unacceptable!” the police chief barked back, his moustache quivering and his finger wagging in the air. 

Balthazar's fists trembled at his side. “He tried to hurt her! He wasn’t following the rules. He was aggressive and abusive, you cannot possibly be serious. Look at her face!”

“He’ll be pressing charges, you know!” the Police officer snapped, jutting his big stomach at Balthazar.

“Go on then, you just let him try,” Balthazar snarled. “Tell him I’ll see him in court. Tell him he will never set foot in here, which is a damn shame for him because he’ll never get that tiny penis touched for free!”

“Why, you—”

Zachariah finally opened his mouth, his words cold and steady. “Untie her hands and let her go, constable. I will deal with the mayor. We’re longtime friends.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, Balthazar failed in hiding his displeasure with a twitch of his eye and a scoff, and Castiel’s head snapped up quickly, gazing up at the duke with a look of betrayal.

Still, she was untied and the policeman cleared out. As soon as the man was gone, Castiel rose to her feet, wrenched off her heels and whipped them across the room.

“Darling—” Balthazar stared, but she swept past them, her face hard and blank, though her eyes roiled with fury and fire.

The three men left behind watched her stomp into the side corridor. With a double take, Balthazar seemed to realise Dean was standing right there, witness to the entire thing.

“What the fuck happened?” Dean asked, turning on Balthazar. “Don’t you have measures in place to keep her safe? All of them?”

Balthazar looked exhausted, running his hands through his hair. “Yes. Of course I do, but measures fail sometimes. The mayor was a long time client of hers, he requests, erm, some unsavory things, but he’s never attempted to assault her. She said he wouldn't listen, he tried to tie her up, to choke her.”

“Her face was bruised, Balthazar!” Dean hissed, wrenching his bag form his shoulder and gritting his teeth. The bag clunked down onto the bench beside him.

Balthazar snorted. “Dean, you don’t know Castiel very well. If you think she looks bad, you should have seen the mayor.”

“What?”

“He has a broken wrist, a fractured ankle, and I very much doubt the swelling in his face is going to go down anytime soon. He might not be able to see for a fortnight or so.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for his girl, but the feeling was damped when the duke got up in Balthazar’s face.

“When we signed the contract, when we made our deal, you said she was mine, Balthazar!” the Duke hissed, turning an unflattering shade of fuschia. “She’s still seeing other clients?! I trusted you! I leave town for a short period of time and I come back to discover _this!?_ ”

Dean’s mouth dropped, but not as dramatically as Balthazar’s.

“I beg your pardon?” Baltazar whispered.

“I required a contract that bound Castiel to me, exclusively! What is this nonsense, Balthazar? If you back out on the deal, I will pull funding! All of it. Your pathetic whorehouse will—”

“Is that really all you’re thinking about right now?” Dean asked hotly, his head hurting from the furrow in his brow.

“Shut up!” Zachariah snapped, then turned back to Balthazar with an accusing point of his finger. “You will amend the contract so that there are no questions about who Castiel belongs to, do you understand? I do not like people touching my possessions!”

Balthazar’s fists balled at this side, but he seemed to bite his tongue and instead nod curtly. “Of course, Zachariah.”

The duke straightened his tie and spun on his heel, departing, but not before shooting Dean a demeaning look of disdain. As soon as he was gone, Dean cleared his throat, looking at Balthazar. 

“I thought you kept them safe,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowed.

Balthazar raised a hand and leaned on the pew by his hip, running the hand through his blonde hair. He sighed and said heavily, “Yes. I thought I did, too.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Dean asked. “With the mayor, I mean.”

Balthazar stared at the floor, his eyes far away. “He’ll be banned from here. He won’t touch another dancer, but I’m afraid there will be nothing but problems. We serve alcohol here, Dean. The city and the police turn a blind eye, but if Duke Zachariah can’t convince his friend to let this go, then we could be looking at a raid any day now.”

Dean winced. “I’m sorry.”

Looking up, Balthazar smiled tightly and shrugged. “Don’t be, Dean. I have a feeling Zachariah will have his way. He always does. He’s poured too much money into this place now to let his friend shut it down.”

With a sick feeling in his heart, Dean added, “And he wants Castiel for himself. If Heaven goes down, she won’t service him.” The sick feeling was accompanied by a sudden feeling of breathlessness. Trying to hide it, Dean asked, “Will you really contract her out to just him?”

“What choice do I have?” Balthazar snorted, dropping his hand to his side, his neck red where he had rubbed too hard. “That’s part of the deal. I managed to sneak in additional clients over the past few months because we needed the money, but the duke will leave if I carry on. Castiel will be solely his. She belongs to him until opening night, at the very least.”

“How can you sell her like that?” Dean breathed, shaking his head. “She’s a person.”

“She’s an angel,” Balthazar amended. “One of the most intelligent, powerful, strategic women I’ve ever met, and I love her like family, but she is an angel. Don’t be confused; she’s a prostitute. Her role is to do what it takes for her fellow angels and for her home. Heaven is her home, Dean. If you think I’m forcing her to sacrifice herself for Heaven, you don’t know her at all. No one forces her but herself. She wants to save Heaven from closure, and if belonging to Zachariah will do it, she willingly offers herself.”

Even though it made him feel sick, Dean nodded. “Right. I guess this is none of my business, I'll...um, just go set my things backstage."

“Don’t bother,” Balthazar murmured. “I’ll cancel rehearsal for today. Castiel is furious, I know her, she won’t come out of her room for the next few days. There...is really no point if she’s not there. We’ll pick up again during the week.”

“Oh,” Dean nodded, the pit in his stomach aching worse for his girl. “Right. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Balthazar nodded numbly and turned his back on Dean, disappearing into a side hallway towards his office. As soon as he was gone, Dean’s strides were quick and determined, following Castiel’s path, desperate to see her.

He caught up with her as she stomped backstage, her hair flying wildly behind her, her rage nearly swirling around her. He didn't blame her; she'd been arrested for being a victim of assault. She'd been blamed, as if she'd done something to deserve it. He couldn't image her rage at being put in handcuffs. He struggled to catch up; she was fast, that wiley girl, and a hurricane wrapped in a human woman's body, but he caught up eventually.

"Cas!" Dean yelled out after her. 

She spun around, the ripped strap of her dress swinging against her body. She looked like she was torn between bursting into tears and burning his flesh off with a single look.

"What?!" she barked. "What do you want?"

Dean raised his hands placatingly as he approached her. "Whoa, whoa. Cas, I'm just checking up on you. I overheard what happened. I'm sorry they arrested you—"

"I don't want to talk," she said through her teeth. "I want you to leave me alone."

Dean swallowed hard, pushing onwards. "Did he hurt you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, her dry lips pressed into a scowl. "Did he... do you not see the bruises on my face? Of course he hurt me! What a stupid question!" She shook her head, wild waves swinging around her shoulders. She snapped her hand up to shove a fistful of hair behind her ear. "Doesn't matter. He looks endlessly worse than I do, that ass."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, watching her face try to hide the real emotion behind her anger. "He was an ass. Karma is gonna get him one day. You didn't deserve to be cuffed, they took it too far."

"Yes, well," Castiel snapped, avoiding his eye, "I wasn’t cuffed at first, but when they dragged me out of the room by my arm and accused me of lying, I offered to reenact the scene on their face with my fist."

Dean choked a bit in surprise laughter. "Castiel, you can't talk to police like that."

She scowled and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, giving the dull orange lamp above their heads a dirty look. "I know that. My people skills," she lifted her fingers and made quotation signs, "are 'rusty'."

Dean fell a bit more in love, smiling even in the horrible situation, and as she winded down, anger draining from her shoulders, he reached forward and ran his thumb gently over her jawline.

“I’m sorry that he hurt you,” he murmured. 

“I told him he could have what he wanted,” she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly. “I told him I belonged to him, and so he took that to mean he could try to confine me in my sleep. He tried to tie me up, but I woke before he could, completely. I cut the restraints with my blade, but he pushed me up against the wall by my neck.”

“I heard he looked rougher than you do,” Dean offered, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anyone.”

Castiel huffed with laughter, then seemed to catch herself and she stepped back, pushing his hand away. “I’m all right. You didn’t have to check up on me. I’m fine.”

“Is ‘I’m fine’ your catchphrase? It’s all you seem to say when you’re not fine.” He smiled and began shrugging off his jacket. “Listen, put this on, and come with me. We can grab some ice from the bar and take care of those bruises, I—”

“Stop!” Castiel interrupted, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. She looked up at him, a curl falling into her face, her mouth trembling. “I don’t need your help.”

Dean blinked, his hands bunched in his coat falling in front of him, the material feeling heavy in his curled fingers. “Cas, I just—”

“Balthazar knows I’m involved with someone,” she snapped, her chin crumpling a bit, her bottom lip trembling. She looked suddenly exhausted. “He realised Hannah and I were missing that night we went to Bobby’s. He _knows,_ Dean. He doesn’t know it’s you, but he knows I’m being distracted. I-I slipped up, I let my guard down. With Balthazar, with you. I should never have gone out with you. I should’ve have kissed you in front of your friends. Being with you, even in this arrangement we have, is toxic.”

While Dean reeled a bit at the accusation, Castiel wiped at her face and whispered shakily, “I...can’t do this with you anymore. You have to leave me alone. I overheard Balthazar speaking to the Duke. I know I’ll belong exclusively to him.”

A cold, desperate panic settled in every part of Dean, occupying every space in him. He stepped forward, eyes wide. He reached out. “Cas, no, wait. We’ll be careful. I can be patient, more secretive. I can keep my hands to myself, I—”

But Cas stepped back again, her mouth pressing tightly, the lines around her eyes deep as she grimaced.

“Don’t make this difficult,” she whispered, and Dean froze when he heard her voice go high like she would cry. He’d never seen so much as a tear fall from her eye, so he was suddenly gripped with guilt and shock at the sight of her eyes glistening. “Please leave me alone. I’m-I’m entangled with Heaven. I have obligations to this place. I—”

A tear dropped over her lashes and dragged down her smooth face, leaving a pale trail through makeup. The moment it dripped down off her chin, Dean rushed forward and placed his hands on her face, pulling her in close, his forehead pressing against hers.

“I love you,” he whispered, his heart breaking into pieces as she shuddered under his hands and a small, raspy sob escaped from between her lips. “I do. I’m sorry. I tried not to, but you consume my thoughts. You’re strong and wonderful, Cas. I want to make you happy, and I know you who are. I know who you are and what you do. I will love you even when you’re with the Duke or the mayor or whoever, I—”

Castiel jerked away, shaking her head. “You don’t know who I am, what I’ve done. If you knew me, you wouldn’t love me. I’m not worthy of this. I’m an angel, I…I barely feel human. I-I’m not worthy of anything,” she choked out, reaching up quickly to swipe at her cheeks. “You should stay away from me. I’m a whore. I am nothing else.”

She looked broken, with more tears streaming down her face, the bruises on her neck and jawline bright red, and the strap on her shoulder fallen again. He wanted to reach out and hold her, but he wouldn’t force her to accept any touches she didn’t want anymore. He didn’t want to be another man forcing himself onto her, telling her what she wanted, or what she should do.

Dean nodded, stepping back, away from her, giving her space. It hurt so badly to know this might be the last time he’d be with her in this way, but what could he do? 

“Okay,” he murmured, his eyes stinging. “Okay. I...I’ll leave you alone. Just...just know that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done. I’m in love with you now. I won’t force myself on you or demand time you don’t want to give, but don’t tell me you’re not worthy when I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

Dean’s hand shook as he pointed at her, his voice rough. “You’re a fucking hurricane, Castiel. You’re fire and water and earth. And yes, you’re an angel, but not the kind that fucks high profile clients for money. You’re a real angel; you walk in my dreams, wearing that stupid, dirty trenchcoat, and you walk around in my real life, making it feel like a dream when all you do is kiss me with your eyes closed, and sit with me under the stars at night. You don’t get half my jokes, and sometimes you can be a real brat, but you drive me crazy. I want you to drive me crazy forever, as nutty as it is to say. I’m sorry I can’t convince you to choose me, but I just… Fuck, just know that you’ve loved by someone. You’re deserving and I…” 

No more words made it out of his throat. It closed on him as Castiel’s shoulders went back and she stood tall, her face closed off, though more tears dribbled down her face and trickled down the side of her nose. Dean felt lost. Years of being a writer hadn’t ever given him worse writer’s block than he had now, when the words he wanted to say didn’t come out right, when nothing he could come up with conveyed exactly how he felt.

“I’m gonna go,” he whispered. It was all he could say.

With that, he left her as she wanted him to. He swept out of the corridor, feeling her eyes on his back the entire way out. She didn’t follow, she didn’t fight, and he didn’t look back, even if everything in him wanted to.


	11. Cursed or Not

After Dean came back to the apartment building and told Sam, Charlie, Ash, and Kevin not to bother with rehearsal, he was met with confused stares, but he imagined the look on his face had been worrying enough because they spent the rest of the day checking in on him. After a while, after several ignored knocks on his door, attempts from his brother to talk to him through the wall, or from Charlie to converse through the hole in the ceiling, Dean took refuge in his bathroom, sitting in the empty tub with a bottle of vile whiskey, a pencil, and a notebook.

His heart was so sick that even the whiskey was abandoned. He didn’t want the burn in his throat or the fuzziness in his head; he wanted to be crystal clear as he replayed every word he’d spoken to Castiel and overanalyzed every move he’d made that led him to this. 

He got nothing written, his friends stopped bothering him after a few hours, and by dusk, Dean had abandoned all attempts to numb the pain, leaving the full bottle of whiskey on the floor beside the tub, and his notebook untouched on the sink beside him. Dean stared out the window as orange and magenta light faded over the buildings across the street, looking at the sight but not seeing, his mind instead consumed by blue that was vibrant like the sky and was capable of depths like sapphire gems.

He felt torn. He was furious at his friends for the things they’d said to him two nights ago when they’d teased him about how Castiel was falling for him. They had instilled a sense of hope in him that she’d come around, only supplemented by her behaviour at Bobby’s. Her smile, her laugh, that crooked grin. She’d felt so right in his arms and she’d kissed him so deeply that he could hardly remember moments from that night that didn’t involve her body moving against his, or the sound of her rare laughter in his ear, or the taste of her lips.

But he’d been warned, and that’s where he was torn. Everyone who knew her had warned him that she didn’t fall in love. She didn’t involve herself with anyone, she wasn’t emotional, and she didn’t have time for relationships. He had heard it right from her mouth and still hadn’t believed it. Even when he swore to stop saying he loved her, and promised to try and stifle his emotions, he’d hoped in the back of his mind that she’d change, that she’d fall in love with him.

And even now, knowing her circumstances left them both in positions where their relationship was impossible, he wondered what about him hadn’t been good enough to make her fall in love?

Fuck this, he thought. He reached over the edge of his tub and wrapped his fingers around the neck of his whiskey bottle, intent on pulling it up to his lips and proceeding with the mind-numbing drunkenness.

Knocking on his front door interrupted his attempts to get alcohol poisoning and he groaned, rolling his head back against the ceramic. He opened his mouth to tell them to go away, but Dean decided after trying that route all day and obviously finding no success, he lifted himself out of the tub. While he groaned, rubbing at his stiff body, and wondering why the hell he thought laying down in his tub would be something his thirty-something-year-old body could handle, Dean padded across his apartment. Uncaring if the person on the other side would mind his dirty slacks and untucked shirt, Dean opened the front door, rubbing at his hair and ready to yell.

Castiel stood in the hallway, her hair messy and down, tumbled down her front, the ends curled around her waist, frizzy around her face. Her eyes were red and the bags under them were sunken and dark, but she smiled tightly, and shrugged her shoulders at him, looking small even though she stood six feet tall.

“Are you available?” she asked, her voice rough as gravel.

Dean blinked, feeling entirely breathless and unprepared to see her. He had entirely never expected to see her in the doorway of his apartment ever again, and was suddenly feeling unsure of how to act.

“Available?” he repeated slowly.

“Yes,” she said. “It means ‘are you busy’.”

Brat. 

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m not busy. I mean, I was writing a scene, but, uh…”

“Should I come back later?” she asked, eyes a bit wide.

 _What the fuck are you doing?_ Dean asked himself, wondering where his reluctance was coming from. He shook his head, blinking quickly, and stepped back, opening the door to her.

“I’m not busy, Cas. I can finish writing later, I was stuck on what to write next. Come in.”

She nodded, and stepped inside, clearing past him so he could close the door. The edge of her long brown skirt swept across the floor, and her shirt was a bit wrinkled, not tucked in like usual. One flap was tucked in while the other looked like it had come loose at some point, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. Nothing was shining; no diamonds or rhinestones. She was just Cas, looking tired.

Unsure and uneasy, Dean closed the door behind her, pausing once it was closed to take a breath, his hand pressed against the cheap wood, hoping it would grant him some kind of stability. 

He intended on turning around and asking calmly why she was there, but when he turned to survey her, his lips were captured suddenly, and immediately his mind was consumed with _her_. 

Castiel kissed him fervently, her lips sliding over his wetly, slotting in his, opening desperately as she gasped for air. Dean kissed back, tilting his head and pressing his face against hers, their furrowed brows tilting towards each other. Dean’s hands cupped either side of her hips, while her fingers dragged up his sides and stopped over his waist, curling around it desperately. As her nails dug into his skin, Dean moaned against her mouth, inviting a small hitched breath of her own.

Her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and her hands moved up from his waist to slide up his arms, and finally settle on either side of his head, holding him still when she pulled back just an inch, breathing heavily. Her spine curled forward, pressing herself against him urging his hands to pull her closer wordlessly, and when he did, she pulled his face closer, diminishing the gap between them. 

“I don’t understand,” he kissed against her lips, curling his face away, their cheekbones pressed together, the tips of their noses nuzzling.

While the hot colour of dusk shone through Dean’s windows, painting them both in fiery tones of purple and orange, the space between them was hotter, their breath puffing against each other, the intensity of their grips making him feel like he would implode. All the heartache he’d felt all day melted away instantly, though he knew it shouldn’t. Castiel hadn’t say anything, this wasn’t amends. For all he knew, it was goodbye, and his stomach hurt at the thought, joy draining from him quickly.

Still, she dragged her fingers through his hair and kissed her way into his mouth, urging his lips to part, her tongue sweeping over his. He couldn’t help it—even when his heart tried to protect him by reminding him she didn’t love him—he dissolved into her, pulling her so close that he lifted her up off her feet and his hand pawed at her face, the tips of his fingers curling and dragging his nails down the side of her neck. His hand came around and grasped the base of her skull, holding her lips against his. In return, she moaned, the deep, rumbling sound shaking against his chest, vibrating his lips. 

“Cas, I don’t—”

“I love you,” she breathed, her shaking hands sliding up between their bodies, fingertips gently resting against his face. 

The entire world came to a stop.

Dean and Castiel held each other, standing in the middle of his apartment, exposed under the rays of the setting sun, and they stared at each other after Dean broke their kiss. Trembling, his lips parting under her fingers that explored his skin, he whispered, “What?”

She looked ruined, her eyes shining as she stared across the space between them, gaze jumping from one emerald eye to the other. With a loud gulp, she breathed again, “I love you. I have...entirely fallen for you. Against every word of warning, and every instinct inside me warning me not to, I have irrevocably fallen in love with you.”

For the next few moments, the apartment was quiet except for the sounds of their lips meeting, and Dean’s frantic breaths as he tried to get a grip on himself, but failed.

Against her chapped, plush lips, he whispered, “You told me you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“Another act...” she murmured regretfully, and then she pulled away, holding him far enough that she could see his entire face, her eyes dark, her lips pulled down into a regretful frown. “I told you, Dean. I am unworthy of your feelings. I’m nothing but a whore; I sell myself for Heaven. I follow orders, I do what I’m told. I love who pays enough for me… But you are magnetic, and I defied everything indoctrinated in me by past failures and constructs of Heaven…” She swallowed audibly, and watched her own fingers trace his face. “I want to be clear with you, I want to be honest.”

“Drop the act, then,” he replied quietly, feeling choked up, and trying to speak clearly through the anxiety in his chest. “Say what you mean and I’ll take it at face value. This is your chance to be you, Cas. Say what you mean so you don’t have regrets later.”

The sun was going down outside, and the orange light was cooling, shining through the outside of Cas’ long, thick cascade of hair, surrounding her in a pale aura that Dean would have teased her about if the moment wasn’t so intense.

His eyes slid shut, his chest shuddering, a tremor shaking down his spine as her fingers found a home against his skin, dragging gently down his face and pulled over his jaw. Her one finger, like a sensation of a whisper over his skin, left a trail of tingling over his bottom lip.

“I love you,” she professed quietly, eyes returning to his when they reopened, hers entirely honest, losing the depth in the lines around them. She looked tired, but suddenly very free, a joyful smile tugging up at her lips, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip. “I love you.”

Dean leaned forward, and with hands on her face, cupping her jaw, fingertips brushing over the soft curls that tumbled past her cheekbones, he kissed her lips. In that moment, he breathed her in, trading moans and hitched breaths, and swallowed her confession, drinking it in and holding it dearly, protecting her truth with everything that he had.

***

“I want to tell you something about who I am, so you know. So you know who I am and what I am, and what you’re getting yourself into.”

Castiel’s whisper was loud in the silence of the night, competing only with the sound of a dog barking a few houses down and a car that drove up a street a couple blocks over. Dean watched the curtains blow gently in the early morning breeze, and he watched the stars through the window, feeling endlessly euphoric with Cas’ head shifting on his arm, her naked hip against his. 

“Nothing could make me love you less,” he replied easily, raising the cigarette between his fingers up to his mouth. He pulled from it and exhaled, his view of the outside covered only for a moment as the white smoke rose and curled in a mushroom cloud before him. 

“You don’t know that,” Castiel whispered at the ceiling, her fingers intertwined with the one he had by her head, her nails picking and flicking nervously between his grasp.

“Try me, sunshine,” Dean replied quietly, taking another drag from the cigarette.

“I’d been in love before,” she admitted, almost too quiet, like she’d hoped he would miss what she said. “His name was Jimmy. He… He was married. He was married to my friend, Amelia.”

Pretending he didn’t know about Jimmy, Dean remained silent.

From beside him, Cas sniffed sharply, not crying, but looking shaky. Her throat bobbed and Dean squeezed her hand, offering comfort and hoping she received it from his touch.

“I’m a whore, I’m exactly what people call me,” she said. “I’m...undeserving of love for what I did to Jimmy and Amelia.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Again, her throat worked for a bit before she spoke, her voice a croak. “They died. We were all drinking that night. I-I told her...I told her about the affair, and she stormed out. Jimmy tried to go after her and then—”

“They got hit by a car,” Dean finished for her, seeing the corners of her eyes grow thick with tears.

Shocked, her head turned sharply, hair shuffling over the skin of his arm. Her eyes were big, widen with the knowledge that he knew.

“How do you know that?” she demanded, lifting her head.

Dean smiled sadly. “Little birdies.”

“You knew and you’re still… You’re still here.”

“Yes. I’m still here.”

To his surprise, she didn’t seem angry that he’d pretended not to know. Instead, Castiel looked away from him and her face when blank, her only words were, “I’m a bad person, Dean.”

Again, his fingers that were interwoven with hers gave them a squeeze. “No, you’re not. We all have a past.”

While her features were controlled, her mouth was pursed and a singular tear slipped out, sliding down her temple. Evenly, she rasped, “There’s much that you don’t know. You would change your mind if you knew...”

Dean took a moment to put out his cigarette in an ashtray beside his bed, but then he rolled onto his side, curling into Cas, nuzzling his face into her neck, lifting his face only to place a gentle, quick kiss against her cheek. Into the skin there, he said, “We have a lot of time together to discover our baggage. You’re doing a bad job of convincing me you’re undeserving of my gross, mushy feelings.”

But Cas was lost in a time since passed, her eyes distant, her voice melancholy. “He died and Amelia died. Dean, she died minutes after I told her about the affair. She was my best friend.”

“Why did you tell her? Why not just end it and move on?”

Her free hand came up from its resting place on her stomach and she brushed away the rogue tear. “Because something happened with Jimmy and…”

The rest of the story was lost in the shuddered breaths Cas was taking to try to calm herself. Knowing it wasn’t important, knowing whatever it was, he would forgive her, Dean squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

To his surprise, Castiel nodded, but she laughed bitterly, and turned her head to face him, their noses brushing. “Are you sure you want me? I’m cursed.”

“I’d rather have you,” he whispered against her lips, the sensitive skin tingling as they brushed. “Cursed or not.”


	12. Not Just A Hammer

Over the next few months, the buzz of excitement caused by the play spread from containment within the walls of Heaven, out onto the streets of New York. Posters and billboards funded by the Duke were plastered across the city, though Dean was sure half of them ended up on his walls, pinned above his desk where he wrote. Beautiful illustrations of Cas as Celeste looked down at him, looking powerful and dangerous, with black wings stretched out on either side of her, sprouting from the back of her beige trenchcoat. Dean had ones of Sam too, looking cooler than he actually was as Daniel, in a brown letter jacket and hair that looked very devil-may-care.

The play was almost entirely written now, with a few scenes needing some polishing, and an ending that needed, well, an ending. But Balthazar was more than pleased now with the pace and characterizations, and most importantly, Naomi and the Duke were pleased. Naomi had even popped in two or three times over the last few months to watch the rehearsals with the Duke. On the other hand, to Dean’s displeasure, the Duke had taken to showing up at every rehearsal, which put a damper on a lot of things, considering Dean and Cas usually spent their Duke-free time together on the floor of her dressing room, or snuck off to the luxury suite upstairs. 

The Duke was entirely unaware that Castiel and Dean were together, to Dean’s surprise, because everyone else in the place seemed to know. Their illicit love affair seemed to spread like wildfire, and while Dean wasn’t sure who’d leaked the information, he hardly cared after a while. The Duke didn’t know, and nor did Naomi or Balthazar, so it did seem there was a limit to the gossip.

Dean almost felt bad for the Duke, who had stars in his eyes around Cas… He _almost_ felt bad, but on too many occasions he was reminded that the man had a contract over Cas, and held the livelihoods of all these angels and actors in his hands. He was flighty with the contract, constantly threatening to leave if something wasn’t done his way. It was why Celeste’s skirt now reached her knees when it used to reach the floor, and it was how, on stage, Sam wasn’t allowed to kiss her with his lips open or put his hands on her face, even though at times the scene called for it, especially near the end. Thankfully, for Dean and Castiel, the Duke hadn’t yet mandated her to sleep with him. It seemed, for now, that Zachariah was buying her act, and remained convinced that she wanted to get to know him before she ravished him after opening night. 

Sometimes the Duke was gone on business, and those were Dean and Castiel’s favourite evenings. They even managed to get a few weekends to go out to Bobby’s again, and Dean even found himself sneaking Castiel onto the roof of his building, where they slept under the stars, hidden in the shade of the billboard displayed along the top edge of his apartment. 

It was clearly ingrained in Castiel to be a bit stoic, a bit too serious, and she didn’t always understand references to pop culture like Dean did—turns out growing up in a brothel meant she’d spent most of her pre-angel years doing chores, helping in the kitchen, and running around backstage to redeliver costumes to the angels. She hadn’t done much playing with the children that lived on the street or gone to a regular school like most children had. Her education had consisted of one classroom in the basement of the brothel, where Jody taught the angels’ children how to behave themselves, not throw blocks at each other, as well as read, write, and do arithmetic. She told him one night, as they smoked on his balcony, that the closest she’d gotten to a regular childhood was when she befriended Charlie, who was also an outsider, and spent much time inside, learning how to make costumes and pretending to be pirates sailing the seas between the tall bar tables of Heaven’s lounge. Castiel didn’t know how to play hopscotch, but she did know how to duel to save her life.

Dean thought that explained a lot; including her attachment to that angel blade that she hid in ingenious places.

Despite her lack of understanding, it meant Dean had so much to show her. On one of their nights off, he got to take her to see a horror movie; a showing of Nosferatu, which came out years ago but was one of Dean’s favourites. He expected her to yelp at the frightening bits and find shelter in his shoulder, but to his chagrin, Castiel just slumped in her seat, narrowed her eyes at the screen and frowned at Nosferatu every time he skulked around corners and did anything remotely creepy. The only time he got a reaction from her was when they’d left the theatre, and she smacked him in the stomach with her bag for calling her an ice princess.

Following her love confession, Dean never heard about their “deal” again, and while she wasn’t waxing poetic about him, Castiel didn’t stop him when he professed his feelings for her against her lips as they fucked. She slept the night and didn’t complain about being cuddled in the morning. Occasionally, Dean would wake up to the smell of fresh coffee, and a half-naked girl wearing just his shirt, holding out a cup for him. It was how she expressed her feelings, not to say she didn’t ever tell him she loved him. At first, she usually told him in private, away from others, but after a couple months, she’d slipped up.

One Monday night, with the Duke out of town and Heaven not holding a cabaret night, their small group (which now included Hannah and Castiel) were drinking in Dean’s apartment. Hannah was teaching everyone to dance—with the aid of disgusting whiskey—while Dean sat at his typewriter and attempted to write a scene, pausing only to check the door for Cas’ arrival.

When she did arrive, after a no doubt grueling dinner with Naomi, she looked exhausted. 

“Hey Cas!” Ash greeted, sauntering over, plucking his fresh cigarette from his mouth and offering it to her. “You look like you need it.”

“Thank you, Ash,” Castiel murmured, sliding the filter between her matte ruby-red lips and inhaling deeply. “Hello everyone.”

The rest of their friends greeted her warmly, which only made Dean’s heart swell a few sizes, and she shimmied past them as Sam took Hannah by the hand and twirled her around to the music, amusing drunk Charlie and Kevin when the angel squealed with delight.

"Evening, sunshine," Dean murmured to Castiel as she approached him. He was graced with a very small smile, though her eyes lit up with delight.

"Hello, Dean," she replied. She lifted her foot off the floor and waggled her boot at him. "I wore boots for you so you wouldn't feel short this time."

“Well, the six-inch heels you wore at your Thursday show were rightfully intimidating.” Dean grinned and slid his hands up into her hair as she leaned down to meet him halfway. With her hands on his face, he grinned and murmured, "But the gesture is real nice, Cas. I love you."

"I..." Castiel licked her lips, and her smile widened. "I love you too."

And she’d said this just in time for the music to stop and every person in the room to hear her proclamation. Everyone in the room stilled except for Hannah, who bumped into Sam's chest with a yelp.

Standing up straight, Castiel's eyes went wide and she stared at everyone over her shoulder. Her voice high and tight, she added, "I, uh, love all of you."

More silence. More crickets.

Then Charlie gave Ash the middle finger. "Fuck you!"

“No, fuck you,” Ash snorted, waving his cigarette back at her.

Charlie she raised the other hand and waved it around. "Fuck, ALL of you!"

While Cas groaned, Dean pulled her down onto his lap, threading his arms around her waist and laughing deeply, his shoulders shaking. She turned to hide her face, and Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel's as everyone burst into ridiculous giggles and the next song started up on the music player.

“Guess everyone knows you’re not just a hammer anymore?” Dean chuckled. “The angel is capable of love, who knew?”

Turning back to everyone, Castiel sighed and took a long toke from her cigarette, leaning back to flick the ash out the window. 

Exhaling a long stream of smoke from between her lips, she said dryly, “My reputation is ruined.”

Strangely, with their affair being common knowledge among the workers of Heaven, Dean not only found out more about Castiel through her own stories, and from tidbits she allowed him to know, but from other people. They seemed to see their relationship and want to share. Ellen told him how Castiel spent three weeks helping her behind the bar when she was a teenager, in exchange for Ellen teaching her how to tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Hannah eagerly revealed to Dean all of Castiel’s favourite songs, just in case he ever needed that information for “entirely romantic purposes”, as the angel put it. Charlie seemed to know her the best, despite not being friends for a long time, and although the nostalgia seemed to hurt her, Charlie always found herself offering up information to him with a fond look in her eye.

Sometimes on the weekends, while Dean got to see Castiel at rehearsals and on evenings when the Duke didn’t require her for dinner, his angel would either disappear for doctor’s appointments—the reason for which Dean was still unsure—or would spend time with Claire.

One afternoon, Dean and Charlie sat on the wide stone steps in front of Heaven, enjoying the sunlight and smoking so many cigarettes Dean’s throat was starting to get sore. They had plans to visit Bobby in the early afternoon, but Ash was taking his sweet time meeting them on the steps, occupied inside with getting the perfect shade of blue for the show’s finale light show.

In the distance, on the other side of the square, Castiel was being shown how to play hopscotch by little Claire, who was drawing a diagram on the back of a Supernatural poster. Castiel sat behind her, braiding Claire’s long blonde locks, and smiled down at the plait in her hand. Dean found her endlessly beautiful in the sunlight, enjoying the nice weather with the rest of the peasants and angels, even though she looked tired and pale.

He felt a flush of embarrassment as she glanced up and caught him staring.

To save his dignity, he winked and nodded at her, forcing her to look away and return her attention to the little girl’s mad scribbles, nodding like the content was very important and she’d be tested on it. Beside him, Charlie prattled on, but then twacked him on the shoulder.

“Are you listening or am I interrupting your scheduled casual afternoon eye-fuck with Castiel?”

Dean blinked and grinned up at Charlie, waving his cigarette around loftily and blocking the sun from his eyes with his free hand.

“I’m doing both,” he replied smarmily.

Charlie crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt over her knees, rolling her eyes. Before her cigarette made contact with her lips, she muttered, “Useless men. No wonder I enjoy the female persuasion. How the world manages to repopulate at a steady rate is frankly astounding.”

Ignoring her, Dean gestured out to Castiel, who was on her knees on the cobblestone now, watching the ground in serious concentration as Claire drew the boxes on the ground with a large rock.

“She’s pretty sweet with Claire, huh?” Dean said.

Charlie sighed beside him. “Yeah, she’s sweet with her. Probably guilty about what happened with Jimmy and Amelia.”

Familiar with the story, but unsure if Castiel wanted anyone to know that he knew, Dean trained his face to look puzzled. “Who?”

A sad look made the bags under Charlie eyes seem deeper. “Oh, Jimmy and Amelia used to work here. Claire is their child. Well, sort of.”

Dean blinked at the new information. Wasn’t Claire an orphan?

“She was left at the doorstep of Heaven one night. Jody was over capacity with the children at the time and couldn’t take her.” Dean looked up at Charlie, who leaned back on the steps, exhaling smoke and gazing at Cas. “She didn’t belong to anyone of our people either, so we had no reason to keep her. Jody is here to care for the children of the angels, and we’re not an orphanage. But Jimmy stepped up and adopted Claire—who was _days_ old at best—and said he and Amelia would care of her like their own.” Charlie snorted, putting out her cigarette butt on the step beside her. “Amelia didn’t seem happy about it, but she accepted her eventually. I mean, as if she really had a choice?”

Puzzled, Dean squinted up at Charlie, blocking his eyes from the sun again. “Why would Cas feel guilty about that?”

Charlie paused, seeming to hesitate for a moment, reaching up to comb her fingers through her hair. Then, she swallowed and explained, “One night Cas and Ami got drunk at the bar. They got into some kind of fight. Amelia stormed out of the club, and Jimmy followed her.”

“He got hit by a car, right?” Dean murmured, nodding.

Charlie’s brows raised. “You know about it?”

“Cas mentioned it once or twice.”

Charlie seemed to relax, though her bright eyes looked hurt. “He was drunk, he walked out in front of a car. They both did, he and Amelia. Got killed right on the street in front of Heaven,” Charlie rasped, pointing out towards the front gate, nearby where Cas was playing with Claire. “Cas was broken about it. She didn’t work for a month after, never left her rooms. She and I had been friends up until then, but she pulled away from everyone after. Naomi went to see her a few times, but something tells me those weren’t good visits of support.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, shaking his head, shifting on the step, adjusting his posture. 

Charlie, with her hands cigarette-free, now played with a thread in her skirt. “The only ones she talked to were Balthazar and Jody sometimes. Cas...she really hasn’t been the same since.”

Dean started out past the gates, his imagination running wild, picturing a man and his wife being struck by a car, their blood splattered on the pavement, and Cas, broken, collapsing on the sidewalk in grief. 

“That’s terrible,” he croaked. “All of it.

Pulled from his terrible imagination by a comforting pat on his shoulder, Dean turned back to look at Charlie, who smiled tightly and shrugged. “Anyway, Cas spends a lot of her free time with Claire now. Doesn’t really talk to anyone other than Balthazar, Hannah, and Meg. And, well, you now too, I guess. She…” The flicker of hurt crossed of Charlie’s face again, as it always did when she talked about Cas. “...she stopped talking to me after the accident. I never really understood why.”

It was Dean’s turn to comfort. He patted Charlie’s knee and smiled. “Any ideas why?

Charlie tucked a skinny braid behind her ear and shrugged. “I suppose it was because I was friends with Amelia. She, Amelia, and I were close, but after the accident, Cas was only ever polite to me, but ...it was never the same.

“Sorry, Char.”

Castiel was skipping over the boxes, and turned to Claire when she got to the end, bowing when Claire squealed and bounced happily.

A little laugh made Dean look back up at Charlie. “It’s okay,” she reassured, a small pep to her voice now. “Still kinda stings but, at least she talks to me, you know? She’s polite. And now that she’s smitten with you, she comes out with us. It’s...well, Dean, it’s been swell. I feel like she’s coming back to us slowly, but it’s been real swell having her around.”

The friends shared a smile.

“Glad you’re welcoming of her, even though she stopped talking to you, Char.”

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Charlie signed, tugging a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and tugging out a stick. She threw the pack at Dean, who caught it in his fingertips. Charlie snorted, “I mean, it’s bonkers that you two are in love. It’s real fuckin’ stupid and risky, but I’d be lying if it didn’t give me warm and fuzzies.”

“Weird.” Dean chuckled as he took a smoke and fished in his front pocket for matches. “I didn’t know you had feelings!”

“Me either!” Charlie cried out, waving her smoke. “Quit being gross so my reputation remains intact.”

Dean knocked Charlie’s leg with his elbow, grinning. “Just joshin’ you, Charlie. Everyone knows you have feelings. They’re kind of hard to miss when Meg is around.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie said stiffly, staring at the clouds with her cheeks turning pink.

“You ever tried just asking her out?” Dean asked, raising his brows.

Charlie got to her feet and smacked Dean along the back of the head. With a snap of her fingers, she pointed at Castiel. “You shut it about my love life and focus on your own! One more comment about Meg’s deliciously supple skin, and pretty lips, and shiny hair, and I’ll tell the Duke that you’re banging his lady!”

“I didn’t say any of those things.”

Charlie responded him with a wave of her middle finger and a flap of her skirt at his face.


	13. Better Together

Thursdays. 

Those were the nights that Dean began to dread, as he knew he’d have to watch the Duke drool over Castiel more than usual. With Thursdays being her night, when she was the main act, when she wore the least amount of clothing, and easily looked the most like a real angel, beautiful and ethereal, it was easily the way the Duke liked her the most. Dean figured the Duke walked around with a perpetual boner in his pants at just the thought in Cas under the limelight, her body sparkling, her eyes dark and sultry under heavy lashes and smoked out eye kohl.

Yes, it was one of Dean’s favourite nights too, for that reason, but it meant the Duke was over her all day, working out his sexual frustrations on her by being very handsy in front of everyone.

Dean watched from the wings of the stage, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. He kept rolling and unrolling the script in his hands and was getting ink smudged into his skin, he was sure. But he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from Cas, who was sitting on the edge of the stage, chin resting on her shoulder, her legs crossed all proper, sapphire chandelier earrings swinging from her ears. She was smiling at something Zachariah was saying. The horrible, puddle of a man was pressed against her thighs closely, whispering in her ear. His beady silver eyes glittered at her as her raspy laugh echoed across the stage.

Dean hated the Duke. He hated him. He knew Castiel was faking it, he knew she was doing this because it was her duty, but it didn't hurt any less to see the Duke's slimy hand slid over her thigh and for his grubby fingers stroking her cheek.

And it absolutely didn't hurt any less when the Duke leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Her eyes stayed open, but still...

Dean looked away quickly, focusing on a knot in the wood of the stage floor, trying to find anything that would refocus his energy, because his stomach was turning. 

Sam's shiny brown costume shoes stopped within his field of vision. When Dean met his eye, Sam looked empathetic. He reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder.

"Bad day?"

Dean reached up and rubbed his forehead, uncaring if he got ink on his face. He felt drained. "Must be Thursday."

Sam glanced over at the Duke, who was no longer kissing Cas, but was busy dragging his fingernails down her exposed arm and pushing her hair over her shoulder. 

Cas' blue gaze looked over her shoulder, pretending to follow the Duke's fingers, but the gaze flickered up and met Dean's. She looked regretful for a moment, then turned away.

Sam shook his head, after following Dean's stare. "Yes...Thursday.”

They watched in silence as Castiel slid off the edge of the stage, into Zachariah’s arms. She linked elbows with him and allowed him to guide her away.

“On the bright side,” Sam said, patting Dean on the shoulder and tugging at his shirt, also guiding him away from the main stage, where the crew was working hard under Ash’s instruction, setting up the lights and props, “the show starts in a week! Dean, in one week, she’ll fulfill her end of the bargain with the Duke and who knows, he’ll probably leave just to do this all over again at some other playhouse.”

“Right,” Dean muttered, sighing as they walked behind the stage, nodding and smiling tightly as angels rushed past him, half-in-costume or pacing as they ran lines. “I just gotta sit tight until my girl fucks his brains out and does his bidding in a million ways I don’t even want to start to think about.”

Sam sighed. “You’re the one always telling me that you know what you signed up for, and that you’re not jealous—”

“I’m _not_ jealous!” 

“Okay, but you sound jealous,” Sam chuckled, throwing his arm around Dean’s shoulders as they walked down the steps and descended down into the hallway with the dressing rooms.

“Well, you sound like a big idiot, so there,” Dean replied mockingly, hitting Sam in the stomach with his rolled-up script.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Are you coming to the cabaret show tonight?”

With a grimace, Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve had my fill today of watching the Duke ogle and grope Cas. I’d hate to spend my night watching him drool and fawn over her after I’ve had to pay a cover charge and spent my hard earned cash on overpriced drinks.”

Sam ran his hand through his hair and pulled his arm off of Dean’s shoulders. With a roll of his eye, Sam pointed out, “Kevin gets us in for free and Ellen never charges us for drinks. Are you coming or not? Hannah invited—”

“Nah,” Dean grumbled, squeezing past a group of angels in the cramped hallway. “I’m not joking, Sam. The closer we get to opening night, the less I can stand to see Cas with Zachariah.”

“What? Dean, Zachariah is going out of town in a few hours, and besides, Cas isn’t even performing tonight. Meg’s taken over.”

Dean blinked, turning to face Sam in the hallway, causing their walk to come to a hard stop. He raised his finger and narrowed his eyes.

“What? What do you mean Meg’s taking over?”

Sam snorted, his one brow raised. “Cas’ doctor told her to get bed rest tonight. I mean, haven’t you seen him lurking in the wings, watching her?”

“Bed rest? A doctor?” Dean asked, thrown. “For what? She seems fine, what…”

“Dunno what for,” Sam said, shrugging, “but that’s why Balthazar wanted to do a read through today instead of a rehearsal. Cas hasn’t been feeling well and Balthazar doesn’t want her pushing herself too hard before the opening night. I mean, Naomi’s not happy about the fact that the Angel of Thursday isn’t making an appearance on _Thursday_ , but apparently, Balthazar really put his foot down.”

Castiel was sick? She was sick and he’d had no idea. She looked fine.

“Was she gonna tell me?” Dean asked angrily, though his anger wasn’t directed at his brother. They resumed their walk back to the bar, dodging crew members and angels who ran around getting things together for opening night next week.

“Well, you haven’t seen her for a few days, since the Duke’s been sucking up her time and taking her out to dinner every weeknight. And then with the cabaret doing something each night this week because it’s the last week, I—”

Dean partially ignored his brother. “I mean, yeah, she’s been busy, but she had so many opportunities to tell me. She slept at my place two nights ago, and she visited me a few days back in between meetings with the Duke and Naomi. I guess she looked kinda pale and tired, but she always looks pale and tired after time with Naomi, and I figured she’s stressed about the show.”

They turned into the bar, the jazz music and frantic chatter of the bar staff preparing for the cabaret night assaulting their ears.

“Dunno what to tell you,” Sam muttered, sliding onto a seat at the bar. “She’s a good actress, Dean. She puts on a mask for the Duke, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put one on for you too. I mean, she does for everyone including me, but Hannah’s been telling me that Cas’ been pretty dizzy lately. They’d had to pause rehearsal a few times for the dance numbers on Tuesday because of her. Which reminds me, Han—”

Dean, about to slide onto the stool beside Sam, pause and interrupted him. 

“I gotta talk to Cas, I’ll see you later,” he mumbled, patting Sam on the shoulder.

Sam looked startled, blinking. “What? Really? I thought we were gonna have a drink? Hannah is—”

“—right here!” 

Dean’s departure was slammed to a halt as Hannah appeared in front of him, beaming and waving.

“Hiya, Dean,” Hannah said, slipping between him and Sam to take a seat at the bar. She looked between them and asked, “You drinking with us, Dean? Ellen’s created a new cocktail. It’s called Apoca-lime-and-coke!”

From behind the bar, Ellen paused drying a clean glass and snorted. “It’s a working title. You wanna try one, Dean?”

Deann shook his head, then asked Hannah, “Have you seen Cas? I wanna talk to her.”

Hannah’s smile wilted a bit and she tucked a bouncing brown curl behind her ear. “Oh, well, she’s gone off.”

Dean blinked, and even Sam did a double take, confused. 

“Gone off? Gone off where?” Dean asked.

Hannah looked cornered. “You best leave her alone tonight, Dean. She’s not feeling so perky.”

With a snort, Sam pondered, “Is Cas ever perky?”

Thankfully, Hannah smacked Sam in the stomach with the back of her hand before Dean could. 

Feeling his cheeks tint a bit in frustration, Dean asked again, his voice tight, “Where can I find her, Han? I just wanna make sure she’s fine.”

After looking between Ellen, Sam, and Dean, Hannah sighed and murmured, “She’s in the infirmary. Balthazar’s arranged for a doctor to meet her there, ‘cause she’s been feeling sick for days. Usually we get her taken care of sooner, but the Duke’s been all over her, taking up all of her time.”

Dean’s head was spinning. He knew Cas to be a bit sickly sometimes, causing rehearsals to be canceled or postponed, but nothing about ‘usually get her taken care of sooner’ sounded good.

“Where’s the infirmary?” Dean asked quickly.

Twisting a napkin in her lap, Hannah murmured, “Follow the stairs to the left of the west lounge, down past Jody and the children’s quarters. It’s the white door just at the end of the hall.”

***

The second the Duke planted his last kiss on her cheek and walked off, Castiel had turned on her heel, and strode down a side hallway. She’d barely made it to the lavatory before she was sick. The splitting headache that’d started once she woke up had been nothing but worsened by the sharpness of the Duke’s cologne.

By the time she was struggling to read the small typeface on the scripts during today’s read-though, she had a migraine that made small orbs infect her vision. The entire time the Duke was going on nasally about how he was going to be thinking depraved thoughts about her on the train to whatever-he-was-going, she was feeling fuzzy and confused.

Thankfully, Balthazar was heavily paranoid after she’d told him she was feeling unwell, and had a doctor on hand today. The moment she stepped out from the bathroom, he was there, a hand on her elbow, leading her to the infirmary, all the while speaking to her in hushed tones. 

The darkness and quiet of the infirmary had been a mercy, as was the damp, cold towel on her head and the bitter taste of aspirin on her tongue. After smearing mustard paste on her neck and covering it with a bandage to leave her hair unsullied, the doctor left her alone in the dark, since there weren’t any other inhabitants of the infirmary beds. Only the dull lanterns from the hallway and a dim lamp on the bedside illuminated the room. Even if she felt dizzy and sick, the near darkness did somewhat sooth her splitting head.

“Pssst, Cas?” 

The concept of how much time had passed since she’d been brought here and assisted to lay down by the doctor was entirely lost on her in her confusion. At the sound of her name, she slid the cool, damp towel away from her eyes, resting it on her forehead.

“Dean?” she asked faintly.

The shape of her lover peering into the doorway filled her with both panic and comfort, if that was possible. She’d tried so hard to take care of herself, to be well so that he wouldn't see her like this, and for while she’d been successful. She’d been careful with what she’d eaten, with how much she’d been drinking, but lately with the Duke demanding more of her time, it meant more wine, more food. Things her doctor told her to avoid were suddenly options the Duke didn’t allow her to refuse; wine, bread, wheat. ‘No’ wasn’t an answer the Duke took kindly.

And while Dean wouldn’t judge her for her disease, Castiel didn’t want him to know. To Dean, she was strong, powerful. She was how she wanted him to see her. Yes, it was prideful, but she couldn’t lie to herself; it made her feel good to feel valued by someone as a pillar of strength.

But there he was, approaching her bed with that look in his eye that she never wanted. Pity, fear, anxiety. His eyes were wide and mouth parted a bit, sweeping over her pale, waxy face.

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean asked. “Are you sick?”

“No, I—” She tried to sit up, but paused as her stomach rolled and her torso seized. The edges of her vision blurred. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, pressing the wet cloth against her forehead and shutting her eyes.

“You seemed fine,” Dean muttered worriedly. “You seemed fine all day. Tired, sure but… Cas, you didn’t tell me.”

“It’s nothing; it happens sometimes,” she half-lied. “H-Head pains, nothing more. I only needed a moment down here, Dean, in the dark, in the quiet. The aspirin sho...should kick in very soon.”

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor set her teeth on edge, but she opened her eyes as Dean’s hands pressed against her face. 

“Sam just told me you’ve been sick for days. I-I had no idea. We haven’t seen each other in days and I just had no idea, Cas. Even when you were at my house the other night, you seemed fine…”

“I’m fine,” Cas breathed, adjusting herself on her side. She tried to smile at Dean but felt overwhelmingly tired, too tired to move her face. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be right shortly.”

“Quit it,” Dean said, tapping her chin with his knuckle. She blinked slowly at him, but nodded. Dean gaze down at her from her bedside, shaking his head. “Quit it with the tough angel routine, and just be vulnerable, sunshine. I got a bed at my place, and water, and aspirin.” His thumb dragged over her bottom lip and Dean’s brow furrowed. “Your face is hot… I-I could draw you a cool bath and shut all the windows so it was quiet. My mom taught me how to make this tomato rice soup—Used to make it for Sam when he was sick all the time. I bet you’d like it…”

While everything Dean was saying was so sweet it made her heart hurt with joy, her stomach turned again and suddenly felt light, like it was floating around in the empty cavity that was her torso. A jolt of nausea made her shudder and suddenly her brain felt like it was cramping, a sharp pain fizzling through her head and down the back of her neck. In the back of her throat she tasted something sour. 

It almost seemed as if someone had thrown sulfur into her stomach, and the mushroom cloud was puffing up her throat and drying out her mouth. 

She coughed to clear her throat and refocused her eyes, blinking away the blurry room and four beige spots in her vision. 

Jody, Balthazar, the doctor, and Dean all sat in front of her. She very quickly realised that she was no longer lying down, her legs now thrown over the side of the bed, the wet cloth once against her face was now clung in her hand in a tight fist. A cool sweat had her hair clinging to her face and neck. It was itchy.

“Hello, darling,” Balthazar said warmly, reaching up to pat her cheek. His other hand was on her knee, giving it a squeeze. “How are you feeling now?”

Castiel opened her mouth, but instead of words, she just made a small noise of confusion. Dean’s eyes widened and he stepped back, looking between everyone, as the doctor and Balthazar exchanged frowns and Jody bent down beside the bed. 

While Castiel focused on remembering how to tell them she was fine, just a bit tired, Jody was holding a bedpan under her face and Balthazar had taken her hand, smoothing open her fingers that clenched and unclenched.

“It’s quite all right, darling angel. You don’t worry about anyone but yourself. If you must be sick, better out than in. You just—”

“I want Dean,” she whispered, not understanding why everyone looked so concerned. “I want Dean.”

Jody hesitated, pulling the bedpan away, and Balthazar froze, his fingers stilling on hers. Slowly, as Dean moved forward, Balthazar rolled back on his stool.

“Hello Ms. Grace,” Dean said formally, though he sounded a bit breathless, his eyes wide. His hand was on her arm politely, patting at her shoulder. “You gave me a scare. I-I had to call for help, I—”

“I want to go home,” she breathed, eyes stinging. “Take me to your bed. Make me your mother’s soup, I just want to go.”

Dean looked between her face and Balthazar’s frozen one, his lips losing colour.

“I, uh…”

Feeling faint, her skull snapping apart down the middle, Castiel leaned forward, causing everyone to suck in sharp breaths and jerk forward to catch her, but she leaned into Dean’s arms and threaded hers around his waist. He smelled like cigarettes and firewood, like warmth and comfort.

“Take me home, Dean,” she murmured into his neck, her cheek on his shoulder. As she felt his hand go to the back of her neck, she sighed, “I love you.”

She desperately wished everyone would stop sucking in harsh breaths because the sound was rattling her brain inside of her skull. 

“You should go,” Balthazar growled.

“You should rest, Miss Grace,” Dean said quietly to her, somewhere above her head. “The, uh, doctor is going to care for you now.”

Cigarettes and firewood faded away, and the scene of tobacco and linen replaced the aroma as Jody sat down beside her and stroked her arms. 

The physician whose name she couldn’t remember was fiddling with something, and then moved close, holding something under her nose. The sharp scent of ammonia sudden burned her nostrils and hit the back of her throat like tiny knives.

Castiel gasped, raising her hand to her mouth, coughing into it and shaking her head, pushing the thing in the doctor’s hand away. 

“Give her half-an-hour, Balthazar. She is still returning to us, though that should speed it up. Perhaps Ms. Mills can stay with her.”

As Castiel’s eyes watered, burning from the smelling salts, beside her Jody murmured, “Balthazar, the children are alone right now, I could only spare a few minutes—”

“Go,” Balthazar said from the stool, off to the side, his tone tight. “I’ll stay with our star. You’re needed elsewhere.”

The next few minutes zoomed by, with Jody’s departure a blur, and the conversation between the doctor and Balthazar nothing but hushed whispers. Castiel waited for her turn to speak with Balthazar patiently, clarity returning to her slowly. Laying back on her side atop the bed, Castiel allowed the doctor to dip the cloth in cool water again and replace it on her forehead. 

The next time Castiel opened her eyes, the cloth on her forehead was lukewarm, and half slid off her face. The room was dim with lamplight flicking warmly over the white sheets and grey walls. Sitting seated beside her bed was Balthazar, his hands linked in his lap. His eyes watched her, though his closed expression was unreadable.

“I had another seizure,” Castiel said quietly, her tone flat with disappointment. 

Balthazar nodded. “Yes, you did. We knew you would, after days of your head aching, didn’t we?”

It was Castiel’s turn to nod, and this time when she tried to sit up, she found she had strength to, though her head still pounded. Everything was much clearer and her tongue didn’t feel like it was swollen in her mouth.

“We are fortunate it didn’t happen in the presence of the Duke,” Castiel pointed out quietly, her voice rougher than her usual rasp. “If he had any inkling that I’m diseased, he would leave us without a second thought.”

Balthazar merely hummed, turning his eyes down to his linked hands.

Feel exhausted and feeling her typical mask of propriety and obedience slip, she continued on bitterly, “What use would a sick whore be? What use would—”

“I told you to break off the affair, Castiel,” Balthazar said quietly. “I _asked_ you to break it off, as your leader, as your colleague, as your friend. I asked you to do it for Heaven; you are the favoured angel, and you’ve always had Heaven’s best interests in mind.”

Castiel stared at Balthazar, her heart pounding. “I do have Heaven’s best interest in—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Balthazar snapped, his voice rising. Castiel fell silent as she saw more of the whites around Balthazar’s blue eyes. “You claim to protect Heaven, and you claim to be loyal to the angels, yet you put all of us at risk as you _dally with the writer!”_

“It’s...It’s…”

The words got caught in her throat and Castiel realised she couldn’t lie anymore, not to Balthazar.

He didn’t look like he could handle being lied to, either.

“It’s nothing,” she breathed, feeling like she was choking again. “It’s nothing. It’s just an infatuation.”

Balthazar rose from his stool, and he leaned forward, his hand sinking into the mattress by her hip. Never breaking her gaze, he sat on the mattress and whispered, his face close; “The infatuation _will_ end. The Duke has the power to back out of the deal, and without his financial support, we will be unable to repay our debts, and the gates of Heaven will shut, do you understand, angel? He will ruin all of us, but he will ruin you especially. Naomi will sell this place to pay off the debts and she will crucify you for being the reason we all fall.”

“I know.” Castiel nodded, reaching up to pull damp hairs from her face. Despite feeling sick, and exhausted, and entirely spent physically and emotionally, she flashed Balthazar a smile. “Ignore what I said when I was...out of sorts earlier, Balth. It was nonsense. The boy is a fleeting distraction, nothing more.”

Balthazar’s face softened, and he raised a hand pressing it to her face. “Castiel… You said that about Jimmy, and look where that left you both? And Amelia?”

When Castiel flinched, Balthazar held her face turned towards him, though his eyes remind soft. 

“The Duke wants to make you a star; he’s renovated Heaven completely, he’s given you and Hannah a new dressing room. He provided the children temporary school and shelter while their classroom was under the dust of construction. Castiel… he’s not an evil man, just a rich man who knows what he wants, and expects us to hold our end of the bargain. Dean Winchester is not a part of that transaction, my love… Not in any capacity more than words on a script.”

His thumb stroked her cheek, meaning to be comforting, but all it did was hurt her deep in the shadows of her heart. Her chest felt hollow, yet slowly filling with lead. 

“Dean Winchester is nothing,” Castiel whispered. “I will end it.”

***

Once cleared to leave the infirmary by her doctor, Cas came to Dean that night. He had the windows closed with the curtains drawn, and an aromatic tomato soup simmering on his stove top. He made it from memory, recalling each step from the dozens of times he made this for Sam, and poured her chamomile tea that Charlie had grown, dried, and made for him weeks ago. Castiel was quiet, though he figured she would be after being sick and suffering from a seizure. He got the feeling from the way everyone had interacted with her, that this was a regular occurrence. Dean meant to probe her about it, but decided he would wait until she was well.

Caring for her was easy; she graciously accepted the bath he drew for her, and drank the soup and tea. She clung to his side in bed, and hummed as he caressed her face and scratched her scalp with his nails, but she didn’t say much. 

When she woke later that evening, looking pale but missing the sheen of sweat that had glistened over he skin in the infirmary, he tried to have her open up.

“Want me to open the windows, Cas? The sun’s down and it’s cool out.”

She nodded, sitting up in bed, noticing another cup of tea waiting for her on the bedside, illuminated by a flickering candle. He saw her raise the tea to her lips as he walked over to the windows, turning the lever to open them. Dean breathed in the fresh night air as the breeze blew over his skin and rustled the curtains.

He turned back to his girl and noticed her staring down into the tea with a grave look on her face.

“Want some honey for that? S’it too bitter?” he asked, sliding his hands in his pockets as he strode slowly over her. He stopped by the edge of the bed, pulling a hand out from his pocket and running it over her cool, semi-damp hair. “Hey, you all right?”

“Everyone knows now, Dean,” she rasped, lifting her head to stare at him, the bags under her eyes deep and dark in the flickering candlelight.

While his hand stilled just as it lingered over her cheek and his heart seemed to stop, Dean flashed her a crooked smile and joked, “About the tea?”

“About us,” she replied gravely, her hoarse croak leaving no indication that she appreciated his joke. “Everyone. All the angels, all your friends. Now Balthazar… Zachariah will find out and Heaven will be lost.” Castiel leaned away from Dean’s hand, leaving it hovering in the air. “We can’t do this anymore.”

Lungs aching by the air that was pulled from them, Dean said tightly, “What?”

Her cool waves slipped over her shoulder and swung across her chest as she shook her head. Her voice pained, her face twisted in heartache, she argued, “We’ll lose the show, we’ll lose the theatre. Heaven will fall, and the angels will be displaced! I-I’ll never be an actress. I—”

Dean dropped down onto the bed and squeezed her leg through the covers, urging her to make eye contact. “An actress? Castiel, do you even want to be an actress?”

That worked. Her big eyes widened, the whites of her eyes like halos around blue. “Yes! Yes, of course I do!”

Dean swept a hand out towards the windows, his face contorted in confusion. “So go be an actress out there! You don’t need to be an actress in Heaven. We can… We can run away, go somewhere else. We can do it together, help you become an actress in a way that is entirely your own. You don’t need Heaven.”

Castiel groaned, moving away from Dean to set her tea back on the bedside. He watched as she pushed his hand away and pulled her legs out from under the covers, sliding them over the edge of the mattress. 

In desperation, feeling his chest near collapse under the pressure of her argument, he snapped, “You’re scared! You’re scared to leave Heaven because you think you’ll be nothing without it. I know it’s all you’ve ever known, Castiel, but you have free will. You can le—

Leaning over, sliding her feet into her boots, she growled, “Stop it, Dean.”

“Okay, so you do want to be an actress. I want you to be an actress. You’re amazing, you’re talented and strong, and no one can take that from you, but do you really need the Duke’s blackmail to get there? Do you really need Heaven? Don’t be frightened to leave this place.”

Cas snorted, getting to her feet gingerly. She shrugged off the robe she was wearing, hanging it on Dean’s coat rack. She turned to him, in nothing but one of his shirts, and began twisting her hair into a plait, scowling. “I’ve never known anything else. I’m already established here. I…I have the lead part in the show. It’s going to be something big, something special for Heaven. I have to be here. This is my chance to save Heaven from closure. And...and this isn’t just about me, Dean. I have the angels to protect.”

Dean turned his gaze to the floor, and his jaw clenched. They both remained in a heavy silence as Castiel changed, neatly folding the shirt she borrowed from him into a square and resting it on the bed beside him.

When he looked up at her, his gaze trailing down her body, taking in her defeated shoulders and red eyes, he tried to smile. But she didn’t return the smile, instead wincing and rubbing at her temple. “I can’t leave Heaven. On opening night, I _am_ going to have sex with the Duke, Dean. I have to. It’s in the contract. And you and I can’t be together for that.”

Dean felt lost, and it manifested as a horrible, swirling ball in his chest. “I know you have to sleep with him. I knew you had to from the moment I met you.”

Cas stepped forward and kneeled at Dean’s feel, taking his clammy hands in her own. “Where does our love belong in that transaction?” she asked, eyes shining wetly as she searched his face. “I know how this story goes, Dean. You’ll get jealous. You’ll leave me. It’s just better that we’re apart.”

“We—” Dean squeezed her hands, “—are better together.”

Cas squeezed her eyes shut, but didn’t move. Curling forward, Dean pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her cool, damp semi-dry hair, inhaling her scent. As he exhaled slowly, he murmured against her ear. “And, no, I wouldn’t leave you. I wouldn’t ever. I don’t get jealous. I-I knew what I signed up for. Our love will still exist despite that “transaction”, because we chose to love one another. We made that choice.”

Cas swallowed. “Choice.”

“Free will,” Dean whispers. “Like Celeste. You chose this love, no one else chose it for you. No contract, no blackmail—”

Nuzzling her nose into the skin of his neck, Castiel laughed tearily. “You were rather persistent. I did try to shoot down your attempts to—”

“Not the point, Cas,” Dean sniffed tearily, smiling shakily. “The point is… you didn’t choose him, not really. You chose me. How can I be jealous of that?”

“You won’t say that on opening night,” she whispered.

Dean groaned, pulling away and holding her face. “What do I need to do to convince you that I won’t get jealous? Grovel at your feet? Shall I run streaking through the streets? Write you a song?”

Cas hiccuped a laugh. “Perhaps I’ll hum it while entertaining the Duke’s tiny penis inside me?”

Their foreheads pressed together and Dean choked with laughter. “You are sickening.”

A sniffle. Castiel’s face was wet when he pressed their cheeks together and her skin was salty when he pressed a kiss to her jawline. 

“See?” she rasped. “You joke now, but it will revolt you. I will revolt you.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “I will love you forever.”

“Dean—”

“I will love you even when you lose your wings, angel. I’ll love you when you wrinkle and gray, and when your boobs drag across the floor, and when your singing voice turns to ash, and when you can’t dance because your cane gets in the way—”

He stopped to grin at Castiel’s hoarse laughter interrupted the kiss she was trying to place on his lips. “Dean,” Castiel pleaded, “you can’t just flirt with me when you want something your way—”

“You can’t tell me what to do until we’re married,” he teased.

Her laughter died away quickly and the two breathed against each other in the near darkness. Then, in barely a whisper, Castiel admitted, “Balthazar asked me to end it. I told him I’d leave you.”

Dean pulled away, but just an inch, and he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, beaming as the chapped mouth smiled. 

“Well,” he murmured, winking at her, “add that to the list of things you’ve lied to Balthazar about.”

Castiel groaned and Dean wrapped his arms around her, lugging her up onto the bed and kissing away any of her pain, curling them in the sheets to protect them from the world threatening to collapse around them.


	14. I Gave You Everything, I Gave You More

“ _ _What do you think you’re doing!?__ ” Balthazar shrieked, running towards Castiel, his hand raised. His eyes bulged and his shoulders shook.

Castiel spun on her heel, her hands dripping in fake-blood, and she slammed her hand up against the sigil painted on the wall. From behind the wall, Ash shone a blinding white light through the small holes in the sigil, making it appear to glow.

Balthazar, dressed in a bland dark grey suit, dropped Zion’s angel blade and shrieked. In a puff of smoke, he disappeared. Meg found it rather impressive how Ash fashioned the trap door. He was annoying and always reeked of cigarettes and marijuana, but he was good at what he did. 

She watched Cas-as-Celeste turn on Sam, who wore the determined face Daniel often did, and she panted, looking wild in the eyes. Still, her face held a certain thrill that reverberated an energy on stage. 

“ _ _What do we do now?__ ” Daniel asked, looking around. 

“ _ _We have to find your brother, and we stop him from killing Lilith and breaking the final seal,__ ” Celeste panted. She raised two fingers to his forehead and said, “ _ _Let’s go.__ ”

But Daniel reached up and stopped her, grasping her bloody beige sleeve and pulling her close. 

“ _ _Celeste__ ,” Daniel murmured, their faces inches from each other. “ _ _You did it. You chose.__ ”

“ _ _I couldn’t leave you__ ,” she rasped, shaking her head, their eyes never leaving each others. “ _ _You...You mean too much to me__.”

Daniel nodded, brown hair falling into his face from the messy ponytail, and they leaned forward, capturing each other’s lips.

With a roll of her eyes, Meg sat beside the Duke, eyeing the side of his face with a cold look of curiosity. He must’ve felt her gaze, because Zachariah glanced at her.

“What?” he snapped. “Shouldn’t you be dancing or exposing your breasts to some adulterous drunk in a side room?”

“No,” Meg drawled, tilting her head and twisted a lock of dark hair between her fingers. “That’s only Thursday through Tuesday. It’s Wednesday, I’m off.”

Zachariah rolled his eyes, though he was quick to replace them on Daniel and Celeste, who were entangled in a passionate kiss. The writer’s brother, Sam, grabbed Castiel by her waist and lifted her off her feet as their lips met over and over, her trench coat swirling around her knees. Blood dripped from her hand onto the stage.

“I’m just curious what you think about the ending?” Meg asked lightly, turning her face to follow his gaze. “‘Cause I think it’s silly.”

“Silly?” Zachariah asked, turning his face towards her, though his eyes were still watching Castiel closely, dragging down her body.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t the angel choose Zion?” Meg questioned, leaning in towards the Duke, her words slow and deliberate. “Why would the angel choose to fall for some writer—” Meg snorted, pressing her fingertips to her dark lips. “Oops. I mean a hunter.”

She grinned and her eyes flashed with amusement when Zachariah‘s head snapped to stare at her. They gazed at each other for a moment, Meg growing gleeful while the Duke turned red, cheeks coloured with humiliation and angry.

His head turned slowly to watch Daniel and Celeste break apart on stage.

***

Sam and Castiel stood together in the middle of the stage, hands on each others’ faces and foreheads pressed together. Castiel bit her lip, biting back a smile, while Dean straight out beamed at her from the side of the stage, their eyes meeting over Sam’s shoulder.

Balthazar appeared from the side of the stage, and strode out to the faux lovers. He smiled charmingly and opened his hands, surveying Zachariah with anticipation.

“And save for one scene where they stop Sean from breaking the seal, that’s ending for you, Zachariah. Enlighten us with your thoughts? We are eager to receive your feedback.”

There was a silence, all except for the slow, predatory clicking of Meg’s heels as she walked haughtily behind the Duke’s chair, a smirk on curled onto her dark purple lips.

“I hate it,” Zachariah said, his lips trembling, his fists kneading the brim of his bowler hat in his lap. “It’s ridiculous.”

Sam stepped away from Castiel, and they both crossed their arms over their chest, looking annoyed. Dean twisted in his chair, his jaw dropped. 

“What?” Dean asked hotly. “Why?”

Balthazar glowered at Dean as he addressed Zachariah. “Ignore our writer’s rudeness, my Duke. Although I must say, I am also curious as to why you dislike our ending?”

Zachariah looked aghast. He rose to his feet, hands curled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white. Seething, he hissed, “Zion was powerful, a leader. He gave the angel of Thursday purpose, reminded her of her duty, provided order in the chaos. Why would Celeste turn her back on heaven for…for __this__!” The Duke gestured angrily to Sam and Cas with a snap of his arm and a trembling finger. “A broken, aimless, hapless hunter with unending emotional baggage and nothing astounding to offer her!?”

Castiel’s eyes were wide, looking between Dean and Zachariah with fear. Dean tore his eyes from her pale face and glared at the Duke.

“There are other things more important,” Dean retorted. “Families, people. Freedom. Love. That’s more important than __order__ and duty.”

The Duke wasn’t buying it. He stepped towards the stage. 

Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. 

“What will she do with her life once she’s cast out from heaven?” Zachariah asked, suddenly cool, his calculating gaze on Dean. He moved like a snake. ”She’ll be nothing, she’ll be no one. Why would she ever choose a hunter?”

Something snapped in Dean. He felt it sharply in his stomach and for a moment his mouth moved of its own accord. His voice rang out hot and loud; “She chooses the hunter because she’s in love with him! She doesn’t love __you!__ ”

Castiel inhaled sharply. He quickly glanced at her and they exchanged panicked looks, her blue eyes shining. Dean heard her breath pick up.

Dean realised his mistake. He paled, flexing his free hand at his side. “I…I mean Zion. She doesn’t love Zion.”

Dean could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Everyone’s except Zachariah’s, whose eyes had changed target and were boring into Castiel’s, pinned on her face as he clearly contemplated every way to destroy her.

“I want this ending re-written, do you understand?” Zachariah whispered. He didn’t need to speak louder. A pin drop could be heard in the theatre. “Celeste will return to Heaven. She will do as she is told and she won’t help Daniel. Perhaps in the end, Michael will have his sword after all.”

Dean’s jaw dropped and his fellow stage folk gasped. Even Balthazar strode forward towards the Duke. For the first time ever in Dean’s acquaintance of him, Balthazar was speechless.

“I... we… You know… But, Duke, surely you understand that is not possible. It took us weeks to come up with this one, how are we to rewrite the entire ending and bring forth an apocalypse in just a night?” he asked, his eyes slightly wide, his shoulders shrugging.

“There’s no poetry in that,” Sam pitched in, stepping forward from his place on stage. His hair fell into his face as he shook his head. “There’s no symbolism. It leaves loose ends, it doesn’t make sense—”

“That’s enough!”

Everyone turned to stare at Cas. She fixed Sam, then Dean, with a cold look before she turned towards the Duke and strode off stage towards him.

Her stride slowed as she approached him, her chin raised, her shoulders square.

“Don’t listen to these bohemian rats, my Duke,” Castiel said coolly. Dean’s stomach turned violently as one of her gloved hands came up and stroked the side of Zachariah’s face. “Of course the ending can be changed. Our ridiculous writer is simply too attached to his ending.”

She stepped close to the Duke, invading his personal space, her head tilting fondly. She ran a hand down his chest, following the gesture with her eyes before she looked up at him, blue eyes lustful through thick lashes and dark khol liner. “I think we all know this silly ending doesn’t make sense. I think we all know that the angel should choose her own kind. I would love to hear your preferred ending tonight over dinner,”—Dean felt like he might be sick— “Perhaps we can take it Heaven’s west tower? There’s a lovely dining room...and quite a luxurious bed.”

The Duke watched her through angry yet reluctant eyes. Then he nodded. Dean felt his legs go weak and he heard Sam approach.

“Eight o’clock,” the Duke sneered. “Do not be late.”

“Of course,” Castiel whispered, her rasp holding nothing but warmth and charm. “I look forward to you showing me exactly how you wish for this to end.”

With a curt nod and a slow drag of his eyes down Castiel’s body, the Duke stormed out, shoving his hat onto his head, grabbing his coat from a traumatized looking Kevin, and disappearing through the exit doors.

There was an immediate burst of noise as everyone began chattering. Dean felt Sam’s hand on his arm and he heard Balthazar angrily yell about the ending change, but he couldn’t focus on anything but Cas. 

She stood beside the chair Zachariah had sat in, looking far away, her hands curled at her sides. 

Then she swept away, eyes cast towards the floor. __Come on,__ Dean thought desperately, _ _just look at me. Look at me, Cas.__

But Castiel swept out from the theatre, fumbling to take off her heavy, swinging earrings from her ears with shaking hands. She disappeared through the side curtains towards backstage, sweeping away to her dressing room with tears in her eyes.

***

At seven-thirty that night, Dean knocked sharply on Castiel’s dressing room door. From inside he heard two female voices and the door didn’t open immediately. The anticipation had Dean’s heart crashing around in his chest, flailing about inside him as the seconds ticked.

Then, the door swung open and Hannah stood in front of Dean, her eyes wide.

“Oh,” she said, her shoulders falling. “Dean… Hello.”

Dean raised a hand briskly and forced a smile onto his face. “Hi, Han. Uh, can I talk to Cas?”

Castiel was entirely visibly over Hannah’s shoulder, sliding large, swinging chandelier earrings into her ear, watching him in the mirror with wide eyes.

Hannah peered back at her quickly, then nodded and stepped aside to make room for him to enter. As he did, she warned, “She’s getting ready to meet with the Duke tonight, we don’t have much time.”

“Hi, Cas,” Dean said. His fingers rubbed at his clammy palms in his pockets.

Castiel picked up a brush and carefully pulled the teeth through her shining, uniform waves. 

“Hello, Dean.”

They stared at each other, Cas’ face training itself to go blank, though her eyes were shining. Dean looked pale under the bright bulbs around her mirror that lit up the room. Castiel looked stunning, her body contoured exquisite in a long elegant dark blue velvet dress that hung off the shoulders and showed off her sculpted collarbones. Every hair on her head looked placed perfectly, the soft curves of her hair framing her face, one side tucked behind her ear and held there by a shining diamond comb. Her lips were a bright ruby red, and her eyes were lined in a flick of black liner, shadowed seductively under heavy black lashes.

She looked prepared to meet with nobility. She looked prepared to meet with the Duke.

She looked worth every penny that son of a bitch was paying for her.

Dean cleared his throat and said, “Hannah, can Castiel and I have a moment alone? I-I’d like to speak to our lead actress about last minute changes to the ending.”

Appearing unconvinced, Hannah glanced between them. “Castiel?”

The Angel of Thursday nodded quickly and turned a bit on her stool, smiling tightly at Hannah. “Go on, Han. You were just leaving, and I’ll be fine. Have fun with Sam.”

With a grateful nod, Hannah thanked her and ducked past Dean, shutting the door behind her.

Turned back to the mirror, Castiel raised her lipstick to dab on her lips, intensifying the red. Grabbing the chair that Hannah had left behind, Dean dragged it closer to Cas so he was behind her and their eyes met in the mirror.

Quiet, weighed down by his guilt and nearly deafened by the overwhelming feeling of jealousy, Dean whispered, “I don’t want you to sleep with Zachariah.”

Lowering the lipstick, Cas looked broken, her eyes locked on Deans, her mouth dropped open. “Dean, you…you promised you wouldn’t be jealous. Only __days__ ago, you promised...”

Ashamed, he lowered his head and watched his hands, picking at his nails. “Cas—”

The lipstick tube clinked down onto the polished, smooth wood of her vanity and Cas turned around entirely on the stool. Dean’s face was raised by two of her gloved hands, the satin cool on his hot face. She sought Dean’s eyes filled with tears. 

“My love, I have to,” she murmured. “I have to do this. The play, the angels, Heaven… it all rests on my shoulders. I have to. Please understand.”

“I don’t want you to go to him,” Dean said, but he wasn’t ordering, he was confessing.

Cas had tears in her eyes too. “I don’t want to either. But I must.”

“Please,” Dean asked surging forward and pressing his lips to hers, kissing them desperately. He pulled away, staring into her eyes, hoping she would see something in his that would make her stop this arrangement. “If I’m asking you not to do something, you have to trust me, Cas. Please, don’t. Please.”

Like a switch got flicked, Cas looked frustrated. “Dean, I have done everything that you’ve asked. I-I gave you a night, I gave you more. I’ve gone behind Balthazar’s back, behind Zachariah’s. I’ve risked this production, I’ve risked Heaven for you…” She shook her head, her gaze jumping from one guilt-filled emerald eye to the other. “I always come to you. I am your lover, still, against all odds, against Balthazar’s wishes, when everyone around me asks me not to. Against all adversary, I am yours, still. All I ask is this one thing—”

Dean pulled away from her, and her hands dropped into her lap. His imagination running wild, knowing those hands would be on the Duke’s face today too, and that those dry red lips would be on the Duke’s lips too, or worse… The heat of jealousy rose quickly from Dean’s chest and found a home on his face. Angrily, he asked, “What? Trust your plan to seduce Zachariah and fulfill Balthazar’s contract, to save Heaven?”

Cas inhaled shakily. “I’ve earned that, Dean.”

Dean sniffled, wiping under his nose on his sleeve. “I-I’m jealous, Cas. The thought of his hands on you. His eyes on your face, his...his… God, I can’t do this. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Stand behind me,” Castiel whispered, her hands grasping for his between their knees, “the one time I ask.”

But he yanked his hands away, reaching up instead to run through his hair. His eyes stung. “Are you asking me to stand down?”

To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one to be angry. Cas rose to her feet, staring at him. “You promised you wouldn’t be jealous. You promised me and now you’re breaking that promise and making me feel like I’m betraying you. Don’t you understand?” She pressed a painted fingertip to her chest. “I belong to Heaven. If Balthazar signed this contract and made me a condition, then I have to accept that.”

Dean looked up at her with fire in his eyes. Words fueled by a green haze of jealousy tinged his words in a fury he hadn’t known he was feeling until now. “Well, then go running to the Duke. Be his whore. And you can run to Balthazar,” Dean's hands balled into fists, “and tell him that he and his contract can kiss my ass.”

Broken, Cas whispered, “You have said time and time again that you knew what you signed up for. This night was never a secret. Yes, we thought this wouldn’t come up before opening night, but even so, you knew I was his whore, you knew I would have to sleep with him eventually!”

Unable to be near her, Dean got to his feet and walked over to the door. He turned around and leaned his back against it. “I guess I didn’t really know what I was really getting myself into. I...had no idea I would feel like this. He’s just so disgusting, Cas. What he said today, how he acted, how he acts in general and the way he treats people… I hate him. I really hate him.”

Cas' mouth dropped open, and her blue eyes are wet and confused, hurt. Dean looked away and stared down at the floor.

“Get out,” Cas said abruptly, turning away from him.

Realising what he said, Dean looked up, face twisted in torment. “I’m sorry, Cas. I—”

Furiously, Cas abruptly got up and stepped around her stool, shoving it out of her way with her foot. She grabbed the bottom of her skirt and rushed Dean, snatching up a bag from the top of a chest of costumes. 

Before he knew what was happening, Dean had to duck and shield his head as she started hitting him with the bag over and over. 

“Hey! Ow! What the—?!”

“I rebelled for __this__?” she hissed, staring at him with disbelief. “I rebelled! I betrayed __everything__ for you!” She beat him harder over the head. “I did all of it for you, and this is what you give to me?!”

“Cas, listen—”

“I gave you everything—I gave you _ _more!__ And __this__ is the thanks I get?”

“I—ow, Cas, stop!” 

“Get out,” she panted, lowering the bag to her side, her chest heaving.

“I’m sor—”

“Do not,” she warned, tucking a hair behind her ear that had fallen out of place. Cas turned back, stomping away, and dropped back down in front of her vanity, picking up the tube of lipstick. “I said get out. Balthazar will be here soon for a debrief and to naturally scold me for your idiotic, reckless transgression today. I did, after all, disregard his orders. And, of course, the Duke is expecting me shortly to—” She looked at him through the mirror coldly. “What did you say? Oh, yes, to be nothing but his whore.”

While he wanted to apologize and retract what he said, Dean was simultaneously furious. He was furious with himself, with the Duke, with her, with Balthazar, and with the image of Castiel laid naked on a silk bed wearing nothing but the diamond earrings, the Duke rutting into her aimlessly. 

Dean left without another word, slamming the door behind him.


	15. El Tango de Zachariah is a Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Attempted non-con in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, can you tell how tired I am based on how cracky my chapter titles are getting?

Fifteen minutes later, the drink Dean was tipping back towards his lip was intersected by a flat hand that pushed the glass back down towards the bar.

“Take those fingers off my glass, Kevin,” Dean growled, “or lose ‘em.”

With a sigh, Kevin pulled his fingers back, and rested his cheek on his fist that was propped on the bar top. “Dean,” Kevin warned, “you think drinking absinthe will help you cope with, um, tonight? Don’t you think you should maybe go home and try to relax—”

The absinthe burned as it washed down his throat, coating his esophagus in a stinging layer of pain that he welcomed. Shaking off the warm tingle, Dean tapped the bottom of the glass down hard on the counter. He reached up and wiped his mouth with his hot palm.

“Dunno if a bubble bath and Charlie’s chamomile is gonna help me much, while the love of my life is off somewhere having sex with a man I despise in every single way. Unless there’s mary-jane in the chamomile, then I dunno if your advice is useful at all.”

Kevin rolled his eyes, but his other facial expression was lost as Dean curled over the counter and pressed his head to the cool wood, his fingers scrubbing through his hair.

“Dean,” Kevin said softly, patting his back, “it’s her job. I mean, she’s been having sex with other people for months and it never bothered you. This is just another client—”

Dean raised his head so abruptly he felt dizzy. “This is _not_ just another client. Zachariah De Angelis is fucking revolting. He’s abusive, and manipulative, and he’s everything I despise in humanity. He’s a creep, Kevin. He’s a snake who doesn’t respect her.” Dean smacked his hand down on the table and snapped, “He doesn’t even _pretend_ to respect her. He—”

“You okay?” 

Sam’s voice came out of nowhere, appearing between tables, his tall form sliding onto a stool on Dean’s other side. His face was shiny with sweat from the fight scene he’d been rehearsing, but otherwise Sam was focused on Dean, brows furrowed with concern.

“Okay?” Dean echoed, laughing bitterly. “No, I’m not okay, Sam.”

Softness smoothed Sam’s brow as he understood, and he nodded. “Cas is going to the Duke tonight.”

“Yeah, she’s going to that slimeball,” Dean sneered, shaking his head bitterly at the ring left behind on the bar from the glass Ellen had scooped away. “He’s gonna be all over her, and his grimy hands will be all over her skin, all the while he thinks of her as nothing but a…”

A whore. Dean paused, shaken a bit. He despised Zachariah for calling Cas those things when he hadn’t gotten his way, and suddenly Dean realised he’d turned around and done the same thing. 

Fuck.

He needed to apologize. For that, for his anger, for his betrayal of his word and her trust.

Sam’s hand rested softly on Dean’s back and he rubbed a small circle. Dean looked up at him to see Sam and Kevin exchanging winces. 

“We’re sorry, Dean,” Kevin murmured. “It’s terrible, what you two are going through, but, I mean...we all warned you.”

“Kevin,” Sam warned. “Not a good time.”

“You can’t fall in love with angels,” Kevin went on anyway, firm, but directing no malice. “They just...can’t return the feeling in the same way.”

“It’s not true,” Sam replied back sharply, his fingertips pausing on Dean’s back. “You know it’s not true. Dean, don’t listen.” His brother leaned in, brown hair falling into his hazel eyes that were full of conviction. “Castiel loves you, okay? Everyone here sees it, they all know it. Her heart belongs to you, don’t forget—”

Slow clapping behind them made all three men turn in their stools.

Meg—in a shimmering black dress that reached her knees and in lipstick so burgundy that it almost looked black—stood between two tall bar tables, a smirk on her lips. She lowered her hands to her hips and tilted her head, her dark eyes targeted on Dean in an almost snake-like fashion.

The rest of the angels who were filtering in from rehearsal all stopped as they approached the bar and tables, peering curiously at the scene. Of course, they were intrigued by the confrontation; everyone knew about Dean and Cas, and everyone had been there to see the spectacle at the main rehearsal earlier. Dean’s heartache wasn’t a secret; it was a spectacle, and now Meg was there to highlight it for everyone.

“My, my, Dean-o. Your brother really is quite the actor,” she laughed, pointing at Sam. “It takes a professional liar to comfort you with a straight face. For a second there, even I almost bought that.”

“Cut it out, Meg,” Kevin warned, though his cheeks burned pink under the vitriol of Meg’s shifted stare.

“Please,” she groaned. “It’s irresponsible of you two to lie to this poor sad sap. Castiel is not in love, you pathetic fool. This is reality, not one of your plays. The only thing Castiel’s heart beats for is money and fame. She’s probably screaming the Duke’s name right now as he slides a diamond necklace around her neck.”

Dean felt sick, and while he wanted to reply, his throat burned with absinthe and bile at the mental image she painted.

“That’s enough!” Sam snapped, turning towards her in his stool, his eyes flashing. “Your taunting isn’t helping anyone.”

Meg waved a hand vaguely towards Dean, her eyes narrowed. “Your lies aren’t helping anyone either. Is everyone suddenly blind and struck with amnesia!? Castiel is a _whore_ , she functions solely to make money for Heaven. She doesn’t have _feelings_ like all you mere mortals.” Meg laughed bitterly, sauntering towards Dean on clicking stilettos and with a devious grin spread between dark lipstick. “She doesn’t love you, you idiot. You’ve been nothing but a passtime while she tolerates the Duke. And she didn’t fuck you or—dare I said, make love—to you any differently than she does anyone else. Tonight she’ll suck and fuck the Duke the same way she’s sucked and fucked you before, Dean-o.”

Dean jumped off his stool, his shoulders squared, his hands balled into fists. Sam and Kevin’s hands held him back firmly. 

“Shut up, Meg,” Dean ground out from between his teeth, his eyes unblinking as they stared at her in rage.

Meg seemed to light up at his fury, and she stopped in front of him, eyeing his face gleefully. In her smarmy, smooth matter, she tilted her head back and stared at him, whispering tauntingly, “I fell for it to, before, Dean. She told me she loved me and melted into my arms at night, and she licked and flicked and fucked me like the rest of them, and Dean, it means _nothing_ to her. She doesn’t have the capacity to love, she’s just a hammer for Balthazar. She’s Naomi’s pawn and once you’ve served your purpose here in Heaven, once you’ve tip-tapped your heart out at that typewriter and completed that story, you’ll be nothing but a mediocre memory in her long line of mediocre memories—”

“Sit down, Dean,” Sam warned, his voice close to Dean’s ear, his hand curled tightly around his shoulder, tugging Dean down onto the stool. Dean sat back, but only because his knees felt weak and he was shaking, his veins thrumming with a rage he hadn’t felt in years. 

But Meg followed him towards the stool and she was standing so close her hips grazed the inside of his parted knees. Her gloved hand came up to cup Dean’s chin and while both Sam and Kevin growled in protest, they didn’t touch her.

“Don’t feel silly, Dean-o. She’s a vision, she makes even the most unattached souls feel a spark of hope that she might love them uniquely. But let that dream dissolve away, writer.” Meg’s thumb brushed Dean’s chin, while her teeth tugged at her bottom lip in a cold grin. Her whisper puffed against his lips, her eyes glittering. “I remember the noises she used to make with me, the whimpers, the long, delicious moans that I still feel vibrate against my lips to this day, in my dreams… I remember her under me, hot and slick… I wonder if she’ll make those noises with him?” 

Meg’s yelp of laughter quickly morphed into a scream of alarm as Dean lunged at her, grasping her by the shoulders and surging them back against a table. 

Angels around them cried out, while both Kevin and Sam lunged towards them, their hands on Dean’s arms before he had a chance to do anything he’d regret.

“You’re a demon,” Dean sneered into her face, allowing Sam and Kevin—and now Michael and Uriel—to yank him away, all eight hands pulling him easily back into his chair. “You’re unlovable, Meg. You’re evil, and horrible in every way. Castiel doesn’t love you because you’re a snake, you’re nothing but a—”

“Cool it!” Michael snapped, stepping in front of Dean, blocking a smirking Meg from Dean’s vision.

Uriel pointed towards the exit. “Go home, Winchester. You’re out of line.”

“Get your hands off me!” Dean yelled at his brother and friends, jerking his shoulders and biceps from their tight grips. “I’m leaving.”

Every pair of eyes were on him as he rushed out of the lounge. He pushed past angels and was aware of Uriel’s eyes on his back, watching him from the lounge door, and both Sam and Kevin’s footsteps following him. 

“Don’t trail me,” Dean snapped, wrenching open the french doors leading him out of the main theatre into the lobby.

“Dean—” Sam started.

“I don’t want to talk,” Dean growled, his shoes clicking over the hardwood floors, his jacket snapping out behind him. 

“Don’t be an idiot!” Kevin said hotly. “You just attacked an angel!”

Dean spun around to yell at Kevin, when he spotted Meg following them, slipping through the slow-closing french doors. Her eyes were on fire, her face red, though her mouth was twisted into a grin.

“You’re fucked, Winchester,” she sneered. “You think you can attack me and get away with it? Listen, I will bring Hell down on you, I—”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Dean whispered to himself, turning around and pushing open the heavy front doors of the club.

He stepped outside, feeling Sam’s hand on his shoulder, and feeling Kevin lurk on his other side like a guardian angel. Still, Meg followed them out into the cold, drizzling night. 

“The moment Castiel put her lips on you, Heaven was lost,” she snapped after them, her heels clicking on cobblestone. “This fling of yours will ruin everything—”

“MEG!” Uriel barked from the doors, his eyes bulging. “Stop instigating!”

She ignored him and continued, stopping on the bottom step as Dean spun around, his face red, his jaw clenched. 

Her hair was frizzing under the light mist of rain. She looked wild, like lightning was about to strike her. “If the deal fails with the Duke, we’re all fucked. _Fucked_ , okay, Dean? You leave her alone. If you love her, you’ll leave her alone.”

Sam was in Dean’s face, loose strands of hair now damp and swinging in his eyes, but the hazel was bright, unblinking. He shook Dean by the arm, after exchanging worried looks with Kevin. “Dean,” he whispered, “walk away.”

Meg extended an arm and pointed up at the tall tower on one end of the square, up at the illuminated balcony where the Duke was having dinner with Castiel, where he was supposed to sleep with her, to put his hands all over her and take her like she was his…

“She’s doesn’t love you, Dean. She’s up there fucking Zachariah as we speak, open and wanton underneath him. It’s where she belongs, in service of Heaven. Did you think she’d change for you? Did you think she’d run away with you into the sunset? She won’t ever turn her back on Heaven. She’ll always choose Heaven.” Meg lowered her hand, and laughed, her shoulders jerking. “She doesn’t love you. I don’t even think Castiel knows how to feel love.” 

Though he didn’t move to shove her like he had, Dean’s face felt hot under the cool, light rain. He yelled in anger, “Shut up!”

Damp, frizzing curls bounced around Meg’s face as she shook her head. “You fool. Once the Duke gives her everything she ever wanted, she’ll forget about you.”

Behind her, the large oak doors reopened, and this time Uriel reappeared with Balthazar in tow. The manager looked furious, his blue eyes big and his mouth dropped open in disbelief. 

As soon as he laid eyes on Dean, he seemed colder. “What is the meaning of this?” He looked between Dean and Meg, descending the steps quickly. “What’s wrong with you imbeciles, just yelling out in the street like this—”

A scream echoed out in the night, shutting everyone up and sucking the anger out of the interaction like a black hole. Every head turned to look up at the tower, where the light glowing out from the balcony rippled in shadow, created by frantic movement inside.

“What was that?” Kevin gasped, eyes darting around the tower, wide and nervous.

It happened again, echoing out into the night.

“It’s Cas,” Meg and Sam said at the same time.

Meg, Kevin, Sam, and Dean all jolted out of place, striding towards the tower. Behind them, Balthazar finished his descent down the steps, taking three at a time.

“Don’t!” he boomed, though his voice wavered. ‘Leave her! Leave them. I-I’ll go see if they’re all right!”

Dean felt Balthazar’s hand on his arm, pulling him back, but something in Dean snapped and he grabbed Balthazar by his collar, yanking him close. His hands shaking in fury, Dean spat, “If she’s hurt, this is on you.”

Blinking away rain, Balthazar’s eyes darted between Dean’s stormy face and the light shining up on the balcony, his expression twisted in conflict. Although he sounded unconvinced with himself, Balthazar said, “She has to fulfill her end of the bargain, she has to pretend to love him—”

Unbunching one hand from Balthazar’s silk shirt, Dean pointed up at the tower and snarled, “Does that sound like love to you, Balthazar? You twisted, sorry excuse for a guardian?”

Balthazar struggled, his eyes pained and wet as he stared up at the tower. “No, it doesn’t,” he said, finally.

“Why did she scream?” Meg asked, her voice both furious and frightened. “Balthazar!”

Sam stepped in this time, coming between Dean and Balthazar, but this time, instead of pulling Dean away, he gripped Balthazar by the arm and whispered, “You’re with us or you’re not, but Cas is in trouble.”

The Brit jerked away from the Winchesters and rummaged around in his pockets, mumbling to himself. Then, he tugged a ring of keys from the depths of his trouser pockets and singled one out, holding it out to Dean.

“This is the key. Go up the west stairwell, all the way to the top. Raphael will be at the door at the end of the corridor, right at the top of the tower. Tell no one I helped you.” Balthazar turned to Meg, striding towards her and grabbing her by the hand, pulling her back towards the club. “You, come with me. You can’t be involved, love.”

Meg tried to pull away, growling, but Balthazar shook his head. “Heaven can’t be involved in this. Let the Winchesters take the fall, my girl.”

“This…is...bullshit!” she screeched, tearing her hand away and stamping her foot. “Castiel is my best friend, I can’t just—”

Another scream, quieter this time, came from the tower and everyone exchanged looks.

“GO INSIDE!” Balthazar bellowed at Meg, who snarled in anger but ran up the stairs into Heaven, past Uriel who opened the door for her and gazed up at the tower with a pained expression on his face. 

Forgetting about Dean, Sam, and Kevin all ran towards the tower, their feet splashing in puddles that grew as the mist turned to fully formed drops of rain. Dean gripped onto the key in his first, determined not to lose it among the other jingling keys. As he ran up the steps, his breath puffing out of his lungs in a panic, he regretted every word he said to Cas, and regretted every making her feel like anything other than the extraordinary woman she was. He’d spend forever trying to make it up to her. 

“What are we gonna do if Raphael won’t let us in?” Kevin panted, hoisting himself up the stairs three steps at a time, lurching forward with his hand on the railing.

“Plan B is a punch in the face,” Dean wheezed, feeling overwhelmed by the drumming sound their shoes made on the stone steps. “Plan A is you pretend there’s an emergency down in Heaven that requires his services.”

“Oh!” Kevin huffed. “I had no idea I was instrumental in this plan. Yeah, no problem, I’ll just lie to the mean mug security who carries a gun around with him daily!”

The three of them slid out onto the top floor landing, their shoes squeaking on the hardwood. Panting, they all huddled close.

“Tell him Naomi is here to see the Duke,” Sam whispered, his breath shaking. He pointed at Kevin, then at Dean. “Either the Duke comes out and comes with you, or Raphael goes alone. Either way, we’ll break in and get Cas.”

Kevin moaned, rubbing at his sweaty forehead with his arm. “This is a terrible plan!”

“All of our plans are terrible,” Dean snapped, but then leaned to the side, peering out into the corridor. “...uh, is this the right way?”

Kevin faltered, then peered around the corner too. He made a noise of confusion, then turned back towards the Winchesters and scowled. “Yes. I...I don’t think Raphael is there? Where could he b— Dean! Wait! Dean!”

Dean wasn’t waiting, he shoved past the two and rounded the corner, his feet smacking down hard on the wood. 

“Which door?” he snapped back at Kevin. “Which door?!”

“At the end, on the left!” 

It couldn’t be any other door. From inside, he heard commotion and Cas’ voice, uncharacteristically high, and the low growling of men’s voices. Dean stopped in front of the door and walked backward, pressing his back against the opposite wall.

Sam held up his hand and barked, “Dean, wait!”

Ignoring his brother, Dean pushed off the wall and kicked open the door.

***

“The boy is a dreamer,” Castiel said smoothly, her heels clicking over the floor as she paced down the length of the dinner table, her gloved hand gliding over the smooth, polished table top. “He’s written this grand story and modelled the main characters after both him and I. It’s frankly ridiculous. It’s unnerving, his fascination with me.”

The Duke watched her in a cold, calculating way, his face half-shadowed in blue tones by the moon that shone through the open french doors leading out to the grand balcony. His hands were sheathed in his pockets, his suit jacket pushed aside. He was closed off, angry. 

“And what he said today at rehearsal, is that ridiculous too?” he sneered, his teeth bared. 

Castiel smirked, nodding. Her fingers slipped off the edge of the table and she approached him, her shoulders drawn back, hoping she could distract him with breasts that rose in mounds over the top of the corseted dress. 

“Of course,” she rasped, flicking hair over her shoulder with a gloved hand. Coming to a stop in front of him, invading his personal space strategically, her hand dancing up his arm. “I humour him for the sake of the story, but Zachariah, I serve Heaven. I serve you.”

They stared at each other, and while he was still stiff and the air seemed to crackle around him darkly, his eyes did dance over her face, taking in her features and softening ever so slightly.

“And what about love?” he whispered, narrowing his eyes. “Does what the writer say hold truth? Does Celeste choose the lowly hunter, or does she choose Zion?”

The tips of her fingers slid up over his shoulder and trailed over his neck. Zachariah’s eyes flickered for a moment when both of Castiel’s hands rested on his face.

With her lips inches from his, she breathed, “Celeste does not serve man, she serves Heaven, my dearest Zion. My love. The play may end with an angel and her hunter, but in reality, she chooses true love, dear Duke. Real love; she chooses Zion.”

The fireplace by the bed crackled, the noise loud in the quiet room, now only competing with the wet, slick sounds of their kissing and the rumble of Zachariah’s moan against her mouth.

When they pulled away, Zachariah smirked and nodded. “Very well, then. Balthazar and his pauper writer can have their ending.”

Castiel caressed his cheek and smiled. “You are too kind, Zachariah. The stress of re-writing the ending may have been catastrophic to the story. You truly have our best interests at heart.”

“And yours,” he murmured, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. His fingers trailed down her neck and over her collarbone. “After opening night, I have arranged for you to come with me to Rhode Island.”

As the Duke leaned in, dragging his lips over her jawline, Castiel blinked. “Rhode Island?”

“Yes, I’ve begun deals to revitalize a brothel in Providence. Once the play has run its course here, I wanted to bring you to Rhode Island to star in another theatrical production there.” Zachariah nippled at her neck, his one hand on her waist, pulling her close, ignoring or unaware of the trembling under his hand. “I want to make you a star.”

Admittedly, Castiel felt breathless. After this play, she was already lined up for another? She was going to be an actress; the Duke hadn’t been lying. This was everything she’d always wanted…

Until Dean. 

“How long would I be away?” she asked. “When will I return to New York City?”

Zachariah was distracted, his hand dragging over her collarbone and down over her breast, his thumb sweeping over the smooth swell of skin. Licking his lips, he murmured, “In a few years, perhaps, if I have business here. I imagine once we’re done in Rhode Island, we’ll vacation in my Louisiana estate briefly. Then I have plans in California to revitalize a club there, where I imagine you’ll headline as well. At that point, I believe we can focus on your film career. Hollywood is where to be for...”

He kept speaking, but whatever he said faded into the background. For some reason, she had assumed she would be staying in Heaven, starring in their shows, staying behind to help Balthazar run the theatre after the Duke left. More importantly, she thought her deal with the Duke ended after opening night.

Dread filled her stomach like it was being poured into her with every kiss the Duke was planting on her neck. 

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want him, now or on opening night, nor did she want him afterward. The Duke was supposed to be just another client; perhaps more high profile, more public, more long-term, but if she’d known she had been essentially sold to him, Castiel wasn’t sure she would have agreed.

Or perhaps, before Dean, she might have. She _had_ wanted to become a famous actress. Deep down, she’d known the desire to be famous had come from a place of wanting to belong, to be something more than a sex pawn for profit. But this felt wrong; to leave Heaven behind, Dean, to leave her family, her home.

Most importantly, she couldn’t leave the one thing that tied her permanently to Heaven; she couldn’t leave Claire.

“I can’t,” she breathed against the side of the Duke’s face as he dragged his tongue down the side of her neck. The vibe in the room shifted, and suddenly it felt colder as the Duke froze.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked dangerously, lifting his head.

Castiel tried to step back, but his hand on her waist kept her in place. 

“I can’t go with you,” she repeated louder, attempting to sound placating but still firm. She stared into his face and admitted, “There are people here I cannot leave. I-I serve Heaven. I have a responsibility to this theatre.”

“People,” he repeated, his eyes dark as he stared at her. His lip curled and the hand on her back fell away. “The writer,” he breathed. 

No longer trapped, Castiel stepped away, shaking her head and sidestepping him as he followed her. She backed up, shaking her head, feeling a shudder go down her spine as the way he turned reminded her of a snake ready to attack. As he pursued her, half of his face was cast in shadow.

“No,” she countered, shaking her head. As his hands curled at his side, she became more and more aware of the angel blade she’d decided to leave behind, but usually was strapped to her leg. Castiel swallowed, eyeing the table that glittered in the moonlight, covered in expensive silver cutlery. “Not the writer, Duke. I have a d—”

“Silence!” Zachariah snapped, his nasally voice taking on a hiss, a vein in his forehead accentuated by shadow. “I’m not stupid, angel. You want to be a star, but _only here?_ You can’t leave because of a mysterious _someone_ that you can’t leave. Six months ago Balthazar swore to me that you wanted fame, notoriety, a career on the main stage, on the big screen. He said you would do anything to get what you wanted; riches, shelter, fame. And now you can’t leave this brothel-in-sheep’s-skin because of _people you can’t leave behind?”_

It happened very quickly, the Duke’s voice rose into a yell and Castiel tripped on her dress. She yelped as she stumbled back, and the Duke was in her space, the sudden movement alarming her. He reached out to grab her by the front of her dress, and her hand snapped down to the table, snatching up a steak knife.

They froze as she pointed it at his neck.

“Duke, please,” she murmured, gulping down air. “I love you, I do. But I simply can’t leave. It wasn’t in the plans, I didn’t know. I-I have a child I can’t leave.”

For a larger man, he was quick, and it was something Castiel hadn’t seen coming. His one hand snapped up so quickly it blurred and he twisted her wrist, causing her to scream and jump away as the knife fell towards their feet. She barely had time to gasp for air before he had a hand clapped to her mouth.

“A child? Do you honestly believe me to be stupid? And I am supposed to believe you truly ‘ _love’_ me?” the Duke wheezed, his teeth bared in anger. He squeezed her wrist, which was either sprained or bruised now because it ached in his grip and she fought to yank it away. He was bigger and stronger however, and the fist tangled in her dress let go, moving to grab her other hand that swung to hit him instead. “You lying bitch, you never loved me. You draped yourself in the flag of Heaven and of our love, but ultimately it has always been about _him, that writer?!_ Hasn’t it? You’ve never loved me, you’re a liar. You are a _whore_.”

The slit in her dress made it easy for her to swing her knee up into his gut and Castiel snarled as she tore her hands away the second he let her go. Stumbling back, she panted, “Duke, please, Heaven is my home, a-and my daughter, Claire—”

Doubled over for only a minute, the Duke gripped the table and straighten up, panting as he held his side. His face was contorted in rage. “If you won’t love me, and you won’t come with me,” he spat, his lips wet with saliva, his eyes bulging, “then you will fulfill the deal in other ways. I won’t wait anymore. Opening night be damned, you bitch. I will take what’s mine.”

Suddenly, as he moved towards her, Castiel saw that he was holding a knife. It flashed in the moonlight shining in from the balcony. Snatching up her skirt, she turned to run. She knew what he wanted, but under the weight of his rage and this violence, she couldn't do it. The deal be damned, she wouldn’t be fucked at knifepoint. 

Heart hammering, she ran around the table and through the seating area, towards the door by the bed. 

But footsteps pursued her, just as quick. No, quicker. Castiel screamed, loud and high pitched as a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back, sending her sliding across the floor. 

“No,” she growled, twisting onto all fours and struggling to her feet as the Duke stood behind her. On the other side of the bed, the door swung open and Raphael stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.

“Raphael, please!” she panted. “Don’t let him—”

But instead of getting help, or intervening, the bodyguard closed the door behind himself, making eye contact with the Duke behind her back and exchanging some meaningful look she didn’t understand.

She never managed to get onto her feet because the Duke kicked the back of her legs and pulled her back against him, the knife at her throat.

“Hold her,” he ordered to his goon as he stared at them across the bed. “She’ll fulfill her deal, I don't care how willing she may be—”

“No!” Castiel snarled, struggling when the knife disappeared but the Duke dragged her to her feet, forced her to walk a few steps, and then shoved her face down onto the bed, her legs still hanging over, her knees on the floor. She struggled, although the Duke leaned on her neck, pressing her face down onto the silk duvet forcefully. “Please, don’t. dear Duke, please, I can be compliant. I—”

“Silence,” he hissed. “You had your chance and you ruined everything with your deceit. Rest assured, my girl, if you do not quiet yourself, spread your legs, and perform _my_ ending tonight, and tomorrow, I will have Heaven closed down. I will have that little orphan Claire sent to an orphanage across the country where she’ll be cleaning chimneys with a toothbrush until she dies of old age.” 

And even when Castiel stopped fighting back, he pressed the tip of the knife to her back, the tip digging into her skin. “And I will have that writer executed. Shot between the eyes as the show closes tomorrow, if you do not shut your mouth and comply.”

“Let me go,” she whispered into the blankets, her voice tinged with a hint of threat. “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

The Duke snorted. Then; “Hold her.”

Sucking in a hard breath, Castiel screamed as loud as she could when Raphael leaned over the bed and took her hands, yanking them out in front of her, holding her wrists down against the bed. Her arms ached at the shoulders, but Castiel immediately became more preoccupied with the unzipping of pants behind her and the cool air the made the skin on the back of her legs rise into goosebumps as her dress was slipped up around her waist. 

Exposed, she felt defeated, and all she could do was breathe as the knife dragged up the back of her thighs and curved over her backside before there was the snapping sound of the knife cutting her lingerie away. She felt the silky, thin panty slide down her leg and suddenly she felt sick, her head seized in pain. 

She began to beg as the Duke touched her, his one hand bunching her skirt up around her waist, and the other pushing her legs apart. The desperate eye contact she made with Raphael did nothing to draw mercy from him. He stared at her coldly and yanked her wrists forward, straining her arms in their sockets.

The Duke—as he positioned himself at her entrance, ready to hurt her, to take what he thought was rightfully his—leaned over her and near her ear, he whispered, “Where is your hunter now, angel?”

The Duke gasped and Castiel cried out as the door behind Raphael was kicked open, wood splintering from where the intruder’s foot crashed into the door. 

Raphael released Castiel’s wrist and spun around, but he hardly had time to reach for his gun before Sam Winchester barrelled through the door and swung at him. Raphael went down hard, hitting his head against the dense wooden post that held up the canopy above the bed. 

“Winchester!” the Duke snarled, uncurling himself from over Castiel’s body. 

Dean, who strode in after Sam, leaned down to grab the gun that had flown out from the hand of Zachariah’s bodyguard, and he pointed it at him.

“Get away from her,” he snarled, his green eyes dark and tumultuous. Castiel hadn’t ever seen Dean so angry, never so on fire and almost sparkling with fury. He shook the gun and yelled with a crack in his voice, “I said get away from her or I’ll shoot you right in your fuckin’ useless face.”

The Duke backed away, and the moment their skin lost contact, Castiel jumped to life, scrambling across the bed. Sam was there instantly, pulling her to her feet as Dean rounded the bed, his eyes boring into the Duke’s.

“I will have you killed,” the Duke hissed, his face trembling in rage. “I will have you hunted and shot like a dog, you steaming pile of—”

“I’d love to see you try,” Dean growled. 

“Dean, stop! Let’s go, we got what we came for!”

Castiel looked over her shoulder and saw Kevin standing in the doorway, looking mortified. He caught her eye and mouthed, “You okay?”

She nodded and looked back at the scene, just in time to catch the Duke’s gaze slide back towards her.

“You will fulfill your end of the bargain,” he spat, pointing at her. “You know I have connections, Castiel. I will have what’s mine, and if you try to back out of the deal again, I will destroy everything.”

He knew about Dean, and he knew about Claire. Castiel knew deep in her gut that he would stick true to his word, even if it would cost someone’s life.


	16. Naomi's Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Super brief recollection of childhood violence

At the sound of their footsteps down the hallway, Hannah spun on her heel. She was standing in front of Sam’s doorway, and she looked annoyed.

“Where have you been?” she began to say to Sam. “Weren’t we supposed to have dinner? What happ…” 

At the sight of Cas, pale and shaking, looking upset as she rubbed her bruised wrists, Hannah immediately shifted her stance, rushing forward and reaching for her friend.

“Castiel? What happened?” she whispered, throwing her arms around her friend, who accepted the hug willingly.

“The Duke,” Dean growled, wrestling in his pocket for his keys. “He tried to hurt her, Han.”

“Hannah,” Castiel whispered, “he...he knows about my girl. Th-The Duke. I told him, Han. I don’t know why I told him. I thought he’d show mercy.”

Dean had no idea what she meant, but as soon as he pushed open the door to his place, everyone pooled in. Kevin immediately started rummaging through the cabinets, pulling down tins of tea and cups. Hannah helped Cas sit on the bed, an arm around her, rubbing her shoulders. Sam poured a glass of water and turned to hand it to Cas, but the angel surged up, away from Hannah, and suddenly threw herself at Dean, who caught her in his waiting arms.

Before anyone could say anything, Castiel inhaled roughly and started crying into Dean’s shoulder. “I couldn’t do it. He-he put his hands on me and I realised I couldn’t go through with it. H-He wants to take me away after opening night, away from New York and...and…I can’t. Not after you. I can’t go back to him, Dean. He’s evil, he-he—”

Despite everyone trying to help, Dean stared at Sam and said, “Give us a second.”

Exchanging looks, but nodding, Sam pointed at the door. “We’ll be next door.”

Kevin led the way, and Sam escorted Hannah out with an arm around her shoulder. 

Once the door closed, Dean pushed Castiel’s hair back from her face, brushing her tears away. Their foreheads pressed together. In the inch between their lips, he breathed, “Let me take you away from here. You, me, Sam. We can run away. We can start over. Sam knows people back where we’re from, in Kansas. It’s no New York, but he has friends, actor friends who can help you get started down there. It might not be diamonds and the can-can, but you’ll be an actress. A real one. And we can be together.”

Cas sobbed, her gravelly voice sounding ruined. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Dean replied. “I’m so sorry, Cas. Fuck, I am _so_ sorry about what I said to you. I was angry and jealous, though obviously, I had no reason to be. You’re amazing, and extraordinary, and—”

“I have something to tell you,” Castiel breathed, inhaling sharply, more black-tinted tears running down her face. “Before you promise anything, I have to tell you about C—”

“Whatever it is, I’ll love you for it anyway.” Dean kissed her forehead. “But Cas, we have to go. The Duke, he’ll kill us. Well, maybe not you, but he’ll kill me. He might kill Sam. I-I don’t trust him or Raphael.”

“How much time do you think we have?” she asked, blinking roughly.

“We should leave by morning.”

Castiel nodded, reaching up to wipe under her nose with her wrist. “Good… Good, that gives me time.”

“Say your goodbyes to whoever,” Dean said gently, running his hands over her hair, pulling damp strands from her clammy face. “And run away with me.”

“Heaven will fall,” she breathed, her face contorting as another wave of tears ran down her face. “It will close because of me.”

His hands pressed against her face, forcing her to make eye contact. “Cas, after tonight, even if you fulfill your deal, and we do his ending, he’ll tear it all down immediately after, out of spite. You hurt his pride. It was a big ego to crush, sunshine. Heaven never stood a chance with this fucker leading the way.”

The quiet room was filled with small, gravelly gasps for breath, but Cas nodded eventually. “I know.”

“Run away with me,” Dean said again. “Let me save you. Let me grip you tight and—”

“Raise me from perdition?” Cas asked, laughing. “Like Celeste saves Daniel?”

Dean laughed too. “Was that too much? Too cheesy?”

“Yes,” she chuckled softly, tears trickling out of the corner of her eyes. “I think so.”

“Are you coming to Kansas or not?” Dean whispered, their foreheads pressing together. 

Finally, she agreed; “Yes. I’ll do it. My life, my choice.”

“Free will,” Dean murmured against her lips.

“Free will,” she agreed, kissing him finally, pouring all of her relief into it. Her fingers carded through his hair.

The two only broke apart when there was a knock on the door. Reluctant to break away, Dean strode over to the door and opened it, his shoulders loose tension as Sam and Hannah stood in the doorway.

“It’s been a second,” Sam said sheepishly.

But Hannah piped up, looking past Dean to Castiel. Worriedly, she said, “I bugged Sam to come back over. Cas, are you all right?”

Castiel nodded, but Dean turned to Sam, eyes determined. “Pack your stuff, we’re going to Kansas.”

Hannah looked panicked, her wide blue eyes darting between everyone. 

Sam paled. “What?”

“You’re leaving?” Hannah asked, looking up at Sam, her throat working. “You’re _all_ leaving?”

Dean opened the door for them and stepped away, moving back towards Cas, who looked lost in the middle of the room, her hand rubbing at her head. 

“Hannah, can you get Castiel’s things from her dressing room?” Dean asked. “Be careful, you can’t be seen.”

“No!” Castiel spoke up suddenly, raising her head. Hannah stopped mid-exit, and gazed at her sadly from the doorway. With a clearing of her throat, Castiel broke away from Dean and walked over to Hannah, reaching for her hands. The girls linked fingers and gazed at each other. Then, Castiel said quietly, “Get Claire. Bring her to my rooms. Get her quick, Han. The Duke will be looking to keep her from me before morning.”

With a nod, Hannah blinked away tears and ran off, the sound of her heels down the stairs fading.

Looking shocked, but resigned, Sam turned back to them in the doorway and asked hoarsely, “Dean, are you sure? What about the play?”

A hole opened up in Dean’s stomach and guilt poured out of it. Still, he shrugged and said, “I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. We’ll find you another lead role. We’ll—”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I mean… What happens to Heaven? The angels? What…What happens?”

Dean shrugged, looking between Sam and Cas. “I mean, I think this is it.”

Confused, Sam scowled and exchanged looks with Cas, who looked just as perplexed. “What do you mean?”

Dean exhaled, sliding a hand in his pocket. “Team free will. You, me, Cas. We run, we make our own choices, we start over.”

“Okay. Should we get our stuff together then?”

“Yeah. I’ll help get her stuff and—’

Getting herself together, Castiel sniffled sharply and she pushed wetness away from her cheeks with her hand, wiping away smudges of black. “I can do it, I can get my things. It’s better go alone. We shouldn’t be seen together. I’ll meet you outside the gates at sunrise.”

After a kiss to her lips that he hoped infused her with strength just as much as it calmed his nerves, he said, “All right, sunshine. Be careful.”

***

She had expected Balthazar to come to her. She just didn’t expect him to come to her so quickly, and she didn’t expect him to bring reinforcements.

One minute she washing the smudges of black from under her eyes, and was shoving her clothing into a bag, then next she’d spun around to find him and Naomi in the doorway of her rooms.

Balthazar she could handle, but Naomi… Castiel felt frozen in place, and the silk scarf in her hand fell to the floor. Complete and utter panic had the blood in her veins freezing as Naomi stepped into the room, her face trained into a blank expression, though her eyes were pure fury.

“So,” Naomi said curtly, “another illicit affair that will end in bloodshed, Castiel?”

Castiel couldn’t speak, her throat closed up and her stomach revolted, roiling and turning. Behind her eyes, she remembered Naomi’s belt strap coming down over her back when she was sixteen, and she remembered Naomi forcing her out into the street to see Jimmy and Amelia’s broken bodies.

Naomi’s cold smile curled on her lips, her eyes shadowed under the brim of her grey hat. "Why is it that you make the same mistake over and over? How many times do I have to come correct you?”

“Naomi…” Balthazar spoke up from the shadows of the doorway, his face wincing.

Ignoring his warning, Naomi smirked. “What is wrong with you, you ridiculous excuse for an angel? It's like you came off the line with a crack in your chassis." 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Castiel growled from between her teeth, finally finding the courage to speak up as she remembered Dean calling her extraordinary, and remembered Claire teaching her how to play hopscotch, and telling her she wished she was her mother. 

She was, of course, her real mother, but the girl hardly knew that.

“Every time I fix you, I think you’ll learn, but my God, Castiel. You’ve gone and made another mistake that’ll cost Heaven.” Naomi gestured to Castiel, sweeping her hand through the air, and turning her nose up at her. “First you sleep with your best friend’s husband and allow yourself to get pregnant. I arrange a lie—a ‘state tour’— to get you out of the city for six months to give birth—” Naomi ticked off on her fingers, her eyes alight with anger. “—I arrange a false story about a door-step orphan upon your return so that you can be close to your child.” Naomi stepped towards her, her finger shaking. “And now you’ve managed to ruin another one of my arrangements!”

Castiel shook her head, pushing hair away from her face. Brokenly, she whispered, “Amelia deserved to know that we’d broken her trust. She deserved to know Claire was actually Jimmy’s. It felt wrong, Naomi, it felt wrong for her to raise a child that had come from a lie, from such a betrayal. I-I’ve told you—”

“I have done nothing but try to protect you,” Naomi hissed, her stable demeanor breaking. She ripped off her hat and crushed it in her fist, one gloved finger pointing at Castiel. “I let you keep your child, and I did not turn you out on the streets when you got pregnant, or when your leave nearly floundered the business. I did not turn you away when you got Amelia and Jimmy killed, and created a mountain of bad press for this club, but Castiel, if you do not fulfill your end of the bargain with the Duke, I will ensure everything you love will come to an end.”

Although Naomi triggered a trembling in Castiel’s heart that had followed her through her life, she realised if she left Heaven, if she took Claire with them to Kansas, there was nothing to fear. She could be a family with Claire, she could finally tell her she was her real mother, and if Sam could help her, she could still be an actress. She could have it all, including Dean.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you try,” Castiel breathed, her fists curling at her side. 

Naomi laughed, the sound making Castiel flinch out of sheer reflex. Years of practice had instilled that reaction, and Castiel could almost hear the cane coming down on her back like it was just yesterday.

“Stupid girl,” Naomi sneered, “the Duke came to see me almost as soon as your brainless boy toy broke into the tower and struck him. Zachariah knows about you and Jimmy’s bastard child, and he knows about your vile fling with that writer.”

Although she tilted her chin in the air, Castiel’s heart fluttered in panic, throwing itself against her ribcage like it was trying to escape. “I don’t care what he knows. Dean and I are taking Claire and we’re leaving.”

A cruel smirk curled on Naomi’s face. “I’m going to enjoy watching you try.” With that, she turned on her heel, sliding her hat back onto her head. As she pushed past Balthazar, she said coolly, “Ensure she’s ready tomorrow for opening night, or I fulfill my promise, Balthazar.”

The quiet Naomi left behind her was thick with tension, but as soon as her quick footsteps disappeared, Castiel broke the silence by growling. She turned away from Balthazar and resumed throwing her things into a gaping bag pooled over her bed.

“Darling…”

Castiel wrenched open the top drawer of her dresser and pulled out a box. Balthazar’s sigh was drowned out by the clicking and clanging of the box being turned upside down, and jewellery cascading down into the bag.

“I thought you were on my side,” Castiel said in a flurry, her hair fluttering through the air as she turned on the spot, yanking another drawer open with vigor. “I thought we were friends, I thought we were family. You always said you loved me like a sister and yet—”

“I do,” Balthazar replied quickly, stepping into her room, his eyes pinched in pain. “Of course, I do.”

Looking over her shoulder, Castiel’s blue eyes flashed and she looked like nothing in the world could make her believe him. “Yet you ran to Naomi the first chance you got?”

Balthazar pressed his hand to his chest, shaking his head slowly. “No, cherub. The Duke went to her, he demanded to be released from the contract unless you fulfilled your end of the bargain. He’s mad, love. He’s absolutely mad with jealousy. He feels robbed.”

“I am not a _thing_ to be stolen,” Castiel snarled, throwing the box in her hand aside, abandoning the drawer she’d been rifling through. She turned on Balthazar, her hair swinging around her shoulder, wild and frizzing.

“I’m leaving,” she confessed, her voice breaking in rage, her face hot and red. Through bared teeth, she revealed, “Dean, Sam, and I are taking Claire and we’re _leaving_. To Hell with Heaven and the show! Don’t you see, Balthazar; the Duke is going to tear it all down regardless! Whether I go to him or not! He’s—”

“Promised to leave us be,” Balthazar interrupted, speaking over her, his eyes resigned and mournful. “He’s sworn to Naomi he will continue to fund the show if you go to him tomorrow night. If you sleep with him tomorrow, he’s promised to hold up his end of the arrangement.”

“No! After what we did, after what happened up there, he’ll ruin everything—”

“No, angel,” Balthazar sighed. “He’s a businessman. He has a contract.”

Castiel shook her head, her heart hurting like it was about to stop. Sweat gathered at the base of her neck. She kept shaking her head. “No, no, no! NO! He’s lying. Whether the show goes on or not, he’ll destroy Heaven out of spite! I may as well leave and be happy elsewhere. With Dean, with Claire...I’ll have a family that actually loves me.” 

Balthazar reached out for her, but Castiel stepped away, energy crackling around her. “Don’t touch me. I...I’m going to go. I don’t care about Heaven or the play. I’m running away. I’m taking Claire, you can’t stop me.”

Outside, the rain slammed down against the windows following a thunderous crack of lightning. The lines of Balthazar's face look deep in the flash, his eyes shining. “Castiel…” he breathed. “Naomi had Claire retrieved from Jody’s not minutes after her meeting with the Duke. They’ll keep her until her scene tomorrow night.”

The world seemed to stop. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was even raining anymore because all she could hear was Balthazar telling her there was no way out. 

She wouldn't leave without Claire.

“No,” Castiel shook her head, disbelieving. “No, I sent Hannah to get her from Jody.”

“She won’t be there when Hannah arrives, cherub. I’m sorry.”

Though it felt hard to breathe, like air was entering her lungs through a pinhole, Castiel grasped the wooden banister at the end of her bed. In a raspy growl, she ground out; “Then Dean and I will take her after the show.”

So distraught, she didn’t fight back when Balthazar came closer and put his hands on her face, “My darling…if you think for one moment that the Duke hasn’t ordered Raphael to shoot Dean down the moment you both try to leave, then you don’t understand the gravity of this situation at all.”

Feeling crushed, the realization that she wouldn’t win suddenly crashing into her like a wave in an ocean storm, Castiel felt tears well up in her eyes. Through blurred vision, with a voice that broke and cracked, she whispered, “Why is he doing this? H-he doesn’t care about Heaven, he doesn’t even care about me, not really. Let Meg have at him. It’ll all she’s wanted, let her be the star now.”

His thumbs brushed her cheeks, which was supposed to be a comfort, but Castiel wished he would let her go. His touch burned and left a bitter taste in her mouth. “You have led him on, Castiel. He is prideful, egotistical. You’ve humiliated him and now he will tear it all down unless you sleep with him tomorrow night, after the opening show. Castiel…you have to do this for Heaven. You’re the one to save the angels, to save—”

With a small sob and a growl, Cas felt lost, searching Balthazar’s face. “Let me go, Balthazar. I don’t want to be here anymore. I choose Dean, I don’t choose Heaven anymore. I-I don’t care what happens here anymore. I’ve given my life to this place, I’ve given too much. I haven’t ever known anything else. Let me _go_.”

“I’m trying to look out for you—”

After years of thinking Balthazar was the one person she could trust, of thinking that he genuinely was the only person looking out for her, it was shattering to finally understand that he wasn’t. Perhaps, he felt in his heart that he was, but Castiel suddenly felt like the veil had lifted from her eyes.

Balthazar didn’t know the difference between loving her and loving the Angel of Thursday.

“No!” Castiel scream, her throat feeling like it was tearing. She stepped away from him, wrenching her face from his hands and she fixed him with a wide-eyed stare, her eyes shimmering. “All my life you convinced me I was only worth what someone would pay for me, I was only worth what I could provide for Heaven, what I could _do_ for people. Hear their prayers, fulfill their fantasies. But Dean? Dean loves me. Dean loves _me_. He wants me to choose my own path, create my own destiny, live my own life. And I choose him. I will always choose him.”

Balthazar’s hand’s dropped from the air and he whispered, “Darling, what will you do?”

Castiel stared at him, standing frighteningly still. “I’ll be an actress. Sam… Sam knows important people in Kansas, he’ll help me. I—”

“No, Casi,” Balthazar whispered, “what will you do when Naomi sends the police after Claire? You signed her guardianship over to Naomi on the night you brought her home, days after her birth. And what will you do when Dean discovers that you have an illness no one can explain? We’re on the precipice, darling, of finding out what’s wrong with you! But how will you do that with no money? On Dean’s ‘salary’? When Heaven doesn’t pay your bills anymore, when you can’t afford your medication on the wages of a poor writer or his struggling actor brother?”

Every question was like a punch to the gut and Castiel felt herself losing the fight in her with every answer she didn’t have. If she got caught kidnapping Claire, she’d go to jail. The Duke was friends with the police chief, as was Naomi. They’d leave her to rot in a cell for the rest of her life, and Claire would never know her real mother, not like she deserved. Her baby girl would grow up in Heaven, if it remained open, to become just another angel. Another prostitute with no parents, entirely and utterly alone.

What she did to Jimmy and Amelia was her life’s biggest regret, but to destroy Claire’s life before she even got a chance… it was inhumanely cruel.

Castiel grasped the wooden banister for support as she lowered herself onto the bed, her legs shaking. Blood drained from her face and she stared across the room, lost.

“You can’t leave, Castiel,” Balthazar murmured, sitting beside her and threading his arm around her shoulders.

Thunder rumbled outside.

Castiel exhaled a shuddered breath and hot, thick tears dripped from her lashes, sliding down her miserable face.

“Does Dean know?” Balthazar asked quietly.

In her lap, her hands shook, but her voice came out empty, defeated. “About Claire or that I’m sick?”

Beside her, she felt Balthazar freeze. In confusion, he asked, “He...doesn’t know about Claire?”

She shook her head, her chin turned down, her eyes on the floor. “I was going to tell him when we left. He...just believes that I feel responsible for her. He knows she means something to me. He knows I won’t leave without her.”

“Oh, Casi…”

“He doesn’t know I’m sick, not really,” she went on, her voice hushed, her face blank, but her eyes were pinched in the corners, moisture collecting at her lashes. “I’d kept it from him for months, lying about seeing the Duke when I felt a bought of it come on. The other week, in the infirmary… I wasn’t careful enough. I wasn’t eating right, I’d been drinking more. The wine flowed freely at dinners with the Duke. I think, whatever it is, was aggravated by all the drink.” She rubbed her nose with her wrist and murmured, “I didn’t mean for him to see me like that. I never meant for him to find out.”

She really wished he wouldn’t, but Balthazar leaned his head on hers and exhaled, long and slow. 

“Let me go,” Castiel breathed, staring at the floorboards, watching the ripples of light from the rain and moonlight across the floor. ”Please, help me get Claire.”

“I can’t,” Balthazar breathed. “I can’t help you destroy Heaven. We need you to stay afloat, Castiel. You know it. If you play into the Duke’s will, we’ll be saved. Don’t turn your back on us, love. We’ve always been your home.”

“Stop,” she rasped, knowing he was right, knowing Balthazar was winning.

His fingers urged her chin up and over, their eye meeting. 

“Please,” Balthazar urged with everything he had, “you’ve known Dean for six months. But Heaven? It’s been there for you since you were a little girl. These walls may mean nothing to you, but home is where your family is. And the angels are your family; if you break the deal, they will flounder.” He shifted on the edge of the bed, turning towards her, taking her face in his hands again, their eyes locked. “The Duke knows about Claire now, cherub. Just think; he’ll sleep with you tomorrow, and he’ll want to take you away to make you a star. Don’t you think it would be in his favour to keep you happy? Don’t you think it would be in his favour to let you bring your daughter?”

Again, the world seemed to stop and sound seemed to fade away. 

Claire could be taken care of. She could be at Castiel’s side, hers to raise, even if it was with the Duke. Claire would be fed, and clothed, and never left wanting for anything.

But Dean…

“I want to leave with Dean,” Castiel choked out. “I choose him.”

Balthazar’s face twisted in frustration, “You will both be hunted, and he will be killed. The Duke will have him shot, if not tomorrow, then one day. Is this love worth Dean’s life? Sam’s?”

“What would you have me do?” Castiel rasped, her teeth chattering as the cold of realization slid over her like water poured down her back. 

“Lie to him,” Balthazar said suddenly with conviction. “Tell him you don’t love him. Break it off and tell him to go.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could.” He shook her gently. Her chin trembled between his fingers. “You can. You’re the greatest actress I’ve ever met.”

She licked her dry lips that trembled. “He would be broken.”

“Broken, perhaps,” Balthazar said quietly, flinching at his own words, “but not dead. One day the pain will fade for him, so let him go so that he can love another, someone who won’t put a death sentence on his head. Castiel, you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Castiel remained quiet, broken, too upset to cry anymore. She stared faintly across the room, eyes unseeing, glazed over in a glistening sheen.

Balthazar kissed her forehead, getting to this feet. “I will go tell the Duke you will reconsider his offer. I’ll tell him you’re sorry.”

Thunder crashed above them as Castiel nodded, fresh tears pouring down her face.

***

Night was fading and the sun was rising over the city, flashing into Dean’s apartment from the reflection bouncing off the apartments across the street. Still packing, Dean was worried, his head buzzing as he tossed books into a rickety suitcase. Castiel was nowhere to be found. Next door, Dean could hear Hannah speaking to Sam in a panic as he packed too. She’d gone to find Claire only to be met with a morose look from Jody and a warning that the child wasn’t to be seen until the show tomorrow. When Hannah had gone to find Cas, she hadn’t been at her rooms. She said she’d looked everywhere, but the angel was missing.

While they had agreed to meet at the gates for sunrise, Hannah’s inability to find either Claire or Cas was bad news. Something was up. As soon as they were done packing, as soon as their apartments were empty, they’d search for Cas; they’d break down Balthazar’s door and demand to know where she was, if that’s what it took. If he’d done something to her, or worse, if the Duke or Naomi had done something to her, there’d be trouble.

Minutes before he would be done packing, Dean was interrupted from his worried tornado of thoughts by a knocking on his door.

“It’s open!” he yelled, opening a drawer by his bedside to pull out some notes he’d made for a novel he never ended up writing. If they were to return to Kansas, he’d have time to return to it. In his mind, he enjoyed the comfort of imaging himself writing on his old porch, with Cas seated on the swing beside him, smoking and looking beautiful in the Lawrence sun, the Kansas heat making her skin shine.

When the door opened, Castiel stood there. Her face was washed of yesterday’s makeup, not a bit of proof remaining of her emotional state except for the redness around her eyes. She looked exhausted; pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her mouth was turned down, a scowl etched into her lips.

Dropping his notes onto his bed, Dean strode over to her, relief pulling panic away from his heart in tendrils that uncurled and wisped down to the floor behind him.

“Christ, Cas. You worried everyone. Hannah came back telling us Claire was gone, and that she couldn’t find you anywhere… You all right?” 

He came to a hard stop when Castiel stared at him coolly and stepped back the second he drew too close. His hand, which had been outstretched for her, dropped to his side.

Something was definitely wrong.

“I...“ she trailed off, looking distracted after their stare held too long.

Dean looked around the room at the chaos of his half-packed life. “I’m sorry, I look exhausted. I’ve been trying to contact Bobby for a loan, so we can buy tickets to leave the city, and I’ve been trying to pack at the same time. You, me, Sam, Claire, y’know, those are some expensive tickets but I think Bobby could help us out, even if it’s just to give us somewhere to stay until the train comes in... Or we can hide somewhere else in the city. Charlie has friends that we could stay with. They wouldn’t say anything, if you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the couch—”

“I’m not going.”

Dean stared at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times. For a moment, he was sure he’d misheard. “What?”

But Castiel pulled her gaze up from the floor. With empty, emotionless blue eyes and a blank face, she said calmly, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to stay. I’m going to do the show.”

“...and then we’ll leave after the show?” Dean asked, hoping he was misunderstanding, though his heart was sinking fast anyway.

Castiel scowled. “After the show, I will be with Zachariah; so, no.”

God, something was wrong. Dean swallowed audibly with a click and stared at her. “Cas, what’s going on?”

“I spoke with Balthazar,” Castiel said steadily. “And I learned something from our talk.”

Dean remained silent. He didn’t trust himself to speak, feeling a tingle in his throat and an unwelcome burning in his sinuses.

Castiel shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her skirt swaying gently across the floor. Though her eyes suddenly glistened, her face remained impassive and unbothered. “I belong to Heaven. I don’t belong to just any common man.” She paused, then murmured, “And therefore I certainly don’t belong to you.”

Dean stepped back, shaking his head, feeling lost. “I… I never claimed to own you, Castiel. Of course you don’t belong to me. Belong to yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

Desperately wanting to be understood, he reached out to her, but she stepped back, hitting the door frame with her back. Her air of impassiveness dropped quickly as her face contorted with frustration, brows pinched. “No. Don’t you understand, Dean? I don’t get to choose when to leave Heaven, not like you. You can come and go. I belong here with the other angels, with Zachariah. This is my purpose.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean demanded, his own patience running out. While his mind was urging him to calm down, asking him to not lash out, his heart was pounding and he asked in an irate panic, “What about last night? What about all the things you said to me last night?”

Then, Dean walked slowly toward her. “What did Balthazar say to you?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, becoming nervous as the space between them shrunk. “He just reminded me of my purpose. And,” she swallowed, looking like she was struggling, “I realised there wasn’t a good enough reason to leave.”

That made Dean stop in his tracks, inches away from her. “You don’t mean that.”

Her chin dipping again, her eyes redirecting down to the ground, Castiel pressed the back of her hand under her jaw. Sweat was gathering at her hairline. “Dean, I do mean it. And...I have to go.”

No. She couldn’t go. Dean stepped towards her and finally, he touched her, their skin meeting where he pressed fingertips to her jawline gently. Electricity passed through them, and she looked up sharply. 

Breathlessly, Dean said, “Something’s wrong. Something isn’t right here, Castiel. Tell me the truth.”

Abruptly, she pushed his hand away from her face and she stepped into the corridor with one foot, beginning her escape. “The truth?” she asked, gesturing between them. “The truth is, this has all been fake. What happened between us was just me, killing time—charity orgasms, remember? So I could tolerate the Duke for six months, but I don’t think I need help tolerating him anymore. He’s going to help make me a star, he has plans for me. He’s already booked me for more shows after Supernatural.”

Dean was so hurt he winced and stepped back, staring through wide eyes at her, his mouth dropped open.

“How could you think this was something real?” she laughed. “I told you when we first met, Dean. It is my job to make men believe that I love them. Why would you think you were any different?”

Still, even shaken, Dean swallowed thickly, and said, “No. You’re lying. Castiel, tell me the truth.”

A rumbling growl came from her throat and she snapped, losing her patience, “You want the truth? The truth is, I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord, and you—you are Dean Winchester, hunter, human. I’m returning to Heaven, I’m _choosing_ heaven. I choose the angels, my real family. I choose Zachariah. That’s the ending to the play, Dean. That is our ending.”

Feeling numb, Dean let her go as she turned away, but as she began walking away down the dingy hallway, Dean said weakly. “But Celeste loves Daniel. That’s her reality. Ever since she raised him from Hell, they shared a profound bond. They fell in love.”

Cas didn’t turn around. With her back to him, her shoulders squared, she clipped, “The profound bond was an accident, something that happened when Celeste marked Daniel in Hell. But the bond wasn’t love, Dean. It was…it was something silly. Something stupid and reckless. It got in their way, it made them make stupid choices, it made Celeste hurt her own kind, turn her back on her family. She wasn’t meant to have free will like a human. It wasn’t in the design.”

“Don’t tell me it wasn’t love. Please don’t say that.”

Cas pressed a hand to her head, holding the wall with a fumbling hand. “It wasn’t. It isn’t.

“Turn around and look me in the eye.” Dean stepped forward, but something, a sudden aching lack of confidence stopped him from moving too close to her. “Tell me that you don’t love me.”

She turned her head, but just a bit. “You’re just a man,” she whispered, “I’m an angel.”

Silence.

Then, “Goodbye Dean.”

Dean stood in the hallway. He stood there for long enough that the echoing of her heels down the stairs faded completely into silence.


	17. The Lost Unicorn

Hannah is stood behind Dean as he leaned over the railing of his balcony, staring at Heaven. He felt sick as he raised the mouth of a whiskey bottle to his lips.

“I don’t understand,” Hannah said. “I don’t understand why Castiel would say that.”

“She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t love me.”

The door to the apartment opened, then closed with a click. Sam crossed the room and stood next to Hannah on the balcony. “I’m sorry that took so long, Dean. But I spoke with Uriel...he said everyone in charge of security is to be keeping an eye out for you tonight. They won’t let you in, and they won’t let you near Cas. The Duke’s got Raphael in charge of all of that.”

“Fucking Zachariah. And fuck his lackey. They took my time, and my play, and the love of my life,” Dean whispered. “Of course. Why would I deserve anything more?”

Hannah was confused. “I don’t understand. She loves you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Dean, she told me. I know she does. I-I know you don’t see me as anything more than another angel, a-a whore—”

Sam made a shushing sound and Dean heard him murmured, “Hannah, don’t say that.”

Hannah ignored Sam. “But I understand how she feels—"

“Do you?” Dean hissed, spinning and leaning back against the iron bars, his teeth bared. “Do you angels even care about anything other than money and your precious Heaven? I don’t think you people have the equipment to care. It seems like when you try, you just…break apart.”

 

Hannah’s mouth dropped open and Sam grabbed Dean by the arm. “Hey!” he barked. “Don’t speak to her like that. She’s here as your friend, she doesn’t have to be.”

“Is she?” Dean refuted faintly, throwing a bitter look at Hannah. “Is she here for me, or is she here for you? As more than friends?”

They froze. Sam and Hannah exchanged looks, both wide-eyed, both simultaneously stepping closer together and away from Dean.

Feeling shaken with anger, Dean pointed at Hannah with a finger uncurled from around the neck of his whiskey bottle. “Don’t fall for it, Sam. These angels? They have no feelings. She’ll leave you when she realizes you have nothing to offer her but yourself.”

Something snapped. While Hannah looked fearful, Sam stepped up to Dean, getting in his face. “Talk to Hannah like that again and I’ll—”

But shaking off her nervousness, Hannah stepped forward, putting a hand on each of them. She stared at Dean. “I understand what you’re saying, Dean. I know how you must see us. But…” She smiled. “I understand Castiel as well. We’re both Heaven’s angels. I know how she must feel...torn between Heaven and you. I didn’t understand it at first, the thing between you two. No one did. Not Alfie or Rachel. Meg didn’t understand, especially. Though," Hannah paused, swallowing, "I think Meg was consumed with jealousy."

Despite Dean's face twisting resentfully, Hannah continued, shrugging. Her kind blue eyes searched Dean's expression. “All we’ve ever known is Heaven. Love wasn’t something we ever considered within our reach. For years, Castiel was the one who always told me, ‘emotions, feelings, those are dangerous temptations’. Too many men broke her heart when she started dancing with us. Over time, it made her emotionless to men, to feelings."

Dean turned away, staring at Heaven, eyes tumultuous with rage. He felt Hannah walk slowly to his side and he hated her, he hated her kind hand as it rested gently on his arm.

“But Dean, after she met you, she changed. She told me that art, hope, freedom, love... those things—those humans things—are things to be cherished and pursued. She told me to follow my heart, she told me to make my own choices, to choose something for myself.”

Cool, gentle fingers slipped off Dean’s arm and he heard her heels clicking against the floor. Dean turned away from Heaven, sick from looking at it, knowing Castiel was inside with Zachariah. Dean looked back, watching Hannah reach for Sam’s hand. Sam took it and he swallowed, eyes flickering across Dean’s face.

“So that’s how I know,” Hannah finished, her lips twitching up into a smile, pulling herself close to Sam’s side. “I know she loves you. I just know it, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, but doubt filled his stomach. Through his teeth, he said lowly, “I don’t have to listen to this from you.”

And while the voice of reason in his head told him to shut up, the terrible, twisting feeling of vitriol and resentment rose up his throat like smoke. Almost against his control, Dean glanced at Sam and in a dark whisper, he sneered, “I thought you were the smarter one between the two of us, Sam. I thought you’d know better than to get involved with a whore too.”

Sam stepped towards Dean and Hannah stepped back, looking alarmed, like she expected a fight. But then Sam shook his head and seemed to reconsider. Bitterly, Sam snapped, “The play starts in an hour and I guess since we’re not leaving, we’re in it… We have to go get ready.”

He grabbed Hannah by the hand and tugged her inside. Dean turned away, staring down at his bottle.

He jumped when the door slammed loudly behind him. Turned back towards Heaven, his hand gripped around the glass. He stared at it, and with Hannah’s kind eyes and gentle touch on his mind, he was consumed with doubt. 

Perhaps...he could talk to Cas one last time, just to be sure. He just needed to be sure. 

He needed to be sure before the Duke got his ending.

***

She couldn’t believe it.

There were actually people—dressed in their finest attire, in rich fabrics that shone and glimmered. Ladies wore fancy hats and men donned bow ties made of expensive satin. They mingled at the bars on either side of the seats, and shuffled along the rows to pick their place, or to greet friends. All of Heaven, where once was a dance floor and tables Castiel used to crawl over, was now covered in theatre-goers and rowed seating. The Duke, admittedly, had fashioned the club into a proper theatre.

The very thought of the Duke made her stomach sour even worse than it already had. After she’d left Dean that morning, her head had been pounding, escalating to a headache so severe that Jody had her smelling lavender and drinking chamomile almost religiously. No one had been allowed to visit her, make noise, or turn on any lights. She needed to be feeling better by the time the show rolled around in the evening. Even so, she felt sick to her stomach, and her temples ached so badly that they felt like they were constricting. 

Of course, that hadn’t stopped the Duke from visiting her before the show, with Naomi on his tail. The landlord had lurked by the door frame with her lip curled, while the Duke kissed Castiel deeply like last night hadn’t even happened. Cas had smiled through the entire ordeal, and had acted grateful when the Duke presented with her a heavy, expensive diamond necklace, but all it had done was worsen her headache. The weight of his gift around her neck made her feel suffocated.

“I feel sick,” Castiel whispered as she peered between the curtains to watch the crowd. “Do you feel sick too?” she asked, looking back at Hannah, who was helping her slip into the beige trenchcoat Celeste wore.

“Just nerves, Casi, honey,” Hannah murmured, flipping down the collar and smoothing it. “Nothin’ you ain’t done before.”

“I have never done anything like this,” Cas murmured, swallowing the dry lump in her throat. Sweat tickled her hairline. She licked her lips repeatedly as she gazed out into the crowd. In the front row, Naomi sat with the Duke. 

Raphael was standing before them, receiving orders. Castiel shuddered.

“Hannah, I don’t think I can do this with him watching in the front row,” Castiel murmured, her voice hoarse as her mouth felt parched, dried from the thought of having to go to the violent, possessive Duke after the show.

Instantly, Hannah’s hand was on her wrist, rubbing gentle circles into her skin. Her blue eyes were wide, her grip supportive. “You can do it, Cas. I-I mean, you chose him—Zachariah—right? You told Dean this morning that—”

“Get that sadness out of your voice, Castiel, my unicorn,” Meg mocked, coming up behind them with a clicking of heavy heels. “You started this with the Duke."

Hannah and Castiel turned around, the curtain closing with a heavy swish. Blue eyes rimmed in smokey dark eye-shadow darkened further as Castiel glared at Meg.

“I did this with the Duke for Heaven, to save the angels, to save you, and the building, and to save the show. You don't get to talk to me like this."

Her black curls bouncing around her face, Meg leaned in. Though Castiel’s mouth was etched into a scowl, Meg still gripped her chin in dark black nails, and whispered, "No, Castiel. You draped yourself in the flag of Heaven, but in the end, it was always about loving one poor, love-sick writer, wasn't it?"

“Quit it,” Hannah snapped, but Castiel wrenched her face from Meg’s grip, ignoring the stars in her vision that accompanied the quick movement. 

With a fury she didn’t even know she possessed, Castiel growled, "What do _you_ even know about love? You’re full of hatred, jealousy. Uriel told me you egged on the Duke, he told me he overheard you at rehearsal the other day. If anything bad happens to Dean, it’ll be on you, Meg."

A surprised noise came from Hannah’s throat, and her eyebrows furrowed. 

Meg, on the other hand, blinked hard but her mouth was pressed into a thin line. “I was trying to protect Heaven. To protect you; Dean’s a nice fella, but he’s not good enough for you, Casi! What could he even give you? Nothing!” Meg reached up to flick hair over her shoulder, and her chin wobbled as she hissed, trying to defend herself. “I-I’m not hateful. Jealous, sure, but it’s because I love you. I always have, you know that.”

Cas closed the space between them, her lips close to Meg’s, and she whispered roughly, “If you loved me, you would’ve left all of this alone. You would’ve let me have something good, finally. But now Claire is in jeopardy, and I swear, Meg, if Dean or Claire get hurt because of this, I’ll destroy you. I’ll make sure you never work in this club again, and so help me God, you will never stand in my presence again.”

Abruptly, Hannah’s arms came between them and she pulled the women apart. In a rare fit of anger, Hannah snapped, blotches of red high on her cheeks, “Cut it out! Just...cut it out! Haven’t enough people been hurt?” 

Castiel let herself be tugged away by Hannah into the bustling rush backstage, her cool fingers pulling her away from Meg, who watched them, looking guilty, her eyes drawn down to the floor, her black nails digging into her palms.

***

Dean had watched from across the street, his stomach churning like the grey clouds above New York. He curled against the cold autumn chill, and watched a horde of high society’s best crowd into the new theatre, filling the cobblestone courtyard—now lit with tiny glittering lights like Christmas, thanks to Ash. They bustled like ants, nearly climbing over each other to get in, as to avoid the chill and find their seats.

His light shuddering turned into full-on shaking as the night grew colder and the crowd disappeared. To stave off the shudders, he walked up and down the street, checking his watch. Then, at the right time, he doubled back and slipped up the side alleyway to Heaven.

Meeting him at the collapsable stairway up to the staff lounge where Dean had first spoken to Castiel on the balcony, was Charlie. She waved him up, looking over her shoulder nervously.

“Hurry! I am so dead—quite literally—if I get caught smuggling you in! Raphael has been prowling around with _a gun_ , Dean! A real, not-a-prop gun! The hand kind!”

Dean ran up the steps, meeting up with her, rolling his eyes when she spun on her heel and lead the way up the rest of the steps, the many layers of her colourful skirts bouncing around her ankles. 

“A hand gun?” Dean asked.

“Oh, shut it!” Charlie whispered harshly as she ducked into the window she’d no doubt escaped through. He followed her in, tumbling into a dingy studio that was filled to the brim with props, costumes, fabric, bags of glitter, and every type of hat imaginable. Dean paused, swirling his finger around the room; “You work here? I...never thought to ask where you actually did your work. Why did I never think to ask about your studio?”

Charlie growled and rolled her eyes, lurching back to grab his hand before she yanked him across the room. “Because,” she said as her boots trudged over feather boats and buckets of paint, “you were busy being in love and drowning in Angel of Thursday vagina to care about literally anything else. Hannah told me today you didn’t even know she and Sam were seeing each other! She told me you were all revved up to skip town with Sam and Cas, but didn’t even think to ask her to come! Is that true?!”

As Charlie tugged him out from her studio and into a dark corridor, through the upper-level balcony that looked out over the theatre stage and seating, Dean felt his stomach drop with guilt.

“I...knew they kinda had crushes on each other, but I thought it was harmless—”

“It _is_ harmless. Serious, but harmless!” Charlie looked back at him bitterly, her red hair flapping out behind her, slapping down against her back. “He’s had an entire parallel love affair to yours and you were too wrapped up to even notice! And you were just gonna drag him away from her because _you_ had to go!”

Dean fell into step with Charlie, pulling his hand away from her grip, and half-trying to peer out into the theatre as they walked through the shadows. The theatre was almost seated completely...the show would start soon.

“I didn’t mean to! Jee, why are you so angry at me for this!?”

“Because,” Charlie snapped, shoving a door open and leading them down a dark, musty wooden stairwell—they were beside the stage now, descending into one of the wings, “you’ve been so obsessed with Castiel that you forgot about everyone else’s feelings; Cas’ included! You just tried to take her from Heaven, without warning!? No wonder it turned sour! No wonder she got cold feet! Ugh, this is such a mess—”

At the bottom of the steps, Charlie came to an abrupt stop at the door that would lead them backstage. Dean nearly ran into her back, but caught himself just in time, muttering and raising himself over her heed on his tiptoes to look backstage.

“She didn’t get _cold feet,_ Charlie. Jeeze. You don’t get it; Cas says she doesn’t love me,” Dean murmured, trying to keep his pain from leaking into his voice. “She said it was all fake, all a lie, the _thing_ we had. She...she said I wasn’t anything more than a—”

“Bullshit,” Charlie whispered. “Complete bullshit. Now, I’m angry at you for causing a mess and ignoring all your friends while you and Cas were having this torrid love affair, but like Hell am I gonna watch it fall apart. We’re gonna get you to her, and you’re gonna ask her for the truth straight, okay?” She paused, scowling back at him and gently pushing at him with the tip of her finger. “Just...stop breathing down my neck, for starters. It feels disgusting.”

Dean backed up, dropping down onto his heels. “Oh, sorry.”

“And then, we’re gonna sneak you to her dressing room without getting shot between the eyes by Raphael.”

One Charlie’s mark, they slipped backstage and the door behind them clicked closed.

***

The show was half-way done—it seemed unbelievable. Meg strutted off stage, making her exit as her last scene before intermission concluded. Once in the shelter of the wings, Meg shrugged off the leather she wore on her arms, flapping at her neck and handing her coat to Jo, who waited by the wings, ready to receive costumes and props. Charlie was missing—God knows where she disappeared off to. Meg wasn’t sure where she was, but she thought it was quite ballsy for the girl to disappear on opening night. She had a job to do like everyone else—

Meg dropped down onto an apple box, crossing her legs and leaning back against the wall as she fished a cigarette from her pocket. She only got to take one deep inhale of smoke, and observe her co-stars and crew rush around backstage for a moment before a shadow darkened beside her.

“Zachariah,” Meg murmured, exhaling slowly. She glanced up at the Duke through her fake lashes. “We ensured you got the best seats in the house, and yet you come backstage? You’re missing the show.”

The Duke, donning his finest tuxedo, the bow tie tucked neatly under his chin, smiled.

“Dean Winchester has been spotted in the building,” the Duke said to her, his tone light but his eyes flashing like a snake’s. “If anyone spots him back here, you’ll be the most likely to tell me about it. Isn’t that right, Megarah?”

She tapped her cigarette at him and bobbed her heeled foot in the air, nodding. “Sure thing, boss.”

Zachariah paused to wave away the smoke and cringe. Then, with more annoyance, he said, “As soon as you hear where he is, tell Raphael. He’s already looking for him at the perimeter of the theatre as we speak. 

Meg raised a brow coolly, and watched Kevin zoom by, changing his wardrobe frantically. Once he was gone and no one of import was listening, Meg turned her face up to the Duke and asked smoothly, “Shouldn’t we call the police too? Have ol’ Dean-o arrested for trespassing?” 

Zachariah straightened his sleeve and sniffled. Then, he sneered, “Don’t bother the police for such a problem we can handle ourselves.” 

Even though Dean struck a chord with Meg, his very existence making her twinge with envy, Meg felt a jolt of discomfort. Uneasily, she asked, “What do you plan on doing if you find him?”

On the other side of the curtain, the scene ended and the crowd clapped loudly. Zachariah smirked and said, “Raphael will just take him out to the alley where he belongs, and bury a bullet into his brain. The bloody writer will be put down like the flea-ridden street dog he is. Needless to say, he won’t be missed.”

The edge of the filter pressed against Meg’s lips. 

The Duke adjusted his collar and nodded, disappearing through the cast and crew to take his seat back out in the theatre.

The ashes on the tip of her cigarette coiled and drooped, neglected, as Meg panicked.

***

“You can’t be seen,” Charlie whispered, looking over the rack of costumes she and Dean hid behind. She ducked back down and stared at him through frightened wide eyes. “Raphael is pacing around backstage, ready to kick you out if he sees you.”

“I’ll be fast,” Dean growled, looking grumpy. He peered through the costumes, watching everyone rush around in the wings. “This is pointless, she doesn’t fucking love me. She said it was all fake. I know you want me to make sure, to check again, but I’m telling you, it’s never in the cards for good things to happen to me. I—”

Completely ignoring him, Charlie stood up on tiptoes again and stared at the curtains, listening to the crowd clap. “When was intermission? Half-hour ago? If the script is right—” Charlie leaned down again, tugging a script from a pocket in her skirt. She rifled through the pages. “Hmm...Sam _just_ went on stage, so… Dean, I think you have a chance to talk to Cas right now!”

Dread settled in his chest. He desperately wanted Castiel to be lying, but self-doubt plagued him. What if she really had just used him? What if it was just an act?

Anger twinged in his chest. His lips pressed together. Charlie didn’t notice, too busy scanning the script.

“This is just before the finale. It’s the scene between Zyon and Daniel in the Green Room, and then another between Shaun and Ruby, where Cas has a short break.”

“So,” Dean murmured, rubbing at his forehead. “What you’re saying is I can see Cas?”

“Her big scene is coming up.” Charlie nodded. “She should be in her dressing room.”

***

“You made the right choice, Castiel,” Dean saw Naomi say as she left Castiel’s dressing room. 

“Hide!” hissed Charlie before she shoved Dean behind a rack full of clothing she was pushing down the hallway as a shield. Dean did as he was told, nearly stumbling through the clothing, but he regained footing quickly, watching through a part in two swinging, glittering dresses. 

Jody stood outside the door to Castiel’s room, looking furiously at the side of Naomi’s head, like she was hoping it would catch fire.

Naomi didn’t notice, too busy addressing Castiel who was somewhere inside the room. Naomi adjusted her hat and said, “Heaven, as always, appreciates your servitude.” Her gloved hands came up, and that’s when she noticed Jody. She eyed her coolly. “You may have the child back now. We no longer require her.”

Pushing away from her lean against the wall, Jody’s teeth were bared, and her tone was tight, but she forced out, “Thank you _so very much_ , Naomi. I’m sure Claire is very excited to _finally_ get to put her costume on. As much fun as I imagine she was having with you…”

Naomi rolled her eyes and turned up her nose, turning her body away, chest first. With a sniff, she sneered into the dressing room that illuminated her face, “The Duke is very much enjoying the show, Castiel. He awaits his ending. Ensure that _this_ business gets sorted before you see him tonight.”

Unsure what she meant, Dean was curious, but was abruptly cut off as he heard Charlie suck in a breath and stop the cart. The movement nearly sent Dean sprawling across the floor, but he caught himself, and Charlie began pretending to rifle through the costumes.

Naomi’s heels clicked towards them, and he prayed that not only would she ignore them, but that she’d walk right by them.

Unluckily, she paused in front of them. Dean ducked so far down he could only see her feet under the hems of the costumes.

“And where have _you_ been? I heard you completely disappeared!”

“I-I was sick,” Charlie stammered. A hanger made a screeching sound on the rack.

Naomi growled. “You and everyone else! What the hell is going on with you under-dwellers?!”

He watched her black heels click away, just as Jody’s voice rang out; “Oh, Claire-bear, if you want to come watch the ending by the wings, you’ve got to come now! You’re lucky you get to stay up to watch the show tonight, because it’s right past your bedtime!”

Claire’s tiny voice sang out happily, “Yay! Oh, Ms. Jody, I’m so excited to watch Ms. Castiel!”

“Go!” Charlie hissed, reaching through the clothing on the rack to smack Dean in the back of the head.

“Well, leave her to get ready, then! That’s enough with the hugs, she probably is tired of you sitting on her lap! You’ll wrinkle Celeste’s skirt!!”

Dean slid out from behind the rack, purposefully ignoring Charlie’s thumbs-up of good luck. He felt nothing but anger and disappointment lurking on the horizon, but he forced one foot in front of the other, towards the bright dressing room that glowed out into the hallway. 

Claire bounced out of the room, her white dress swishing at her knees, the bit of red ribbon around her middle fluttering gracefully. Her rosy cheeks glowed and she grinned, grabbing Jody by the hand and swinging on it. 

“What a wonderful night!” she sang, giggling. 

Jody forced a smile at the little girl, but looked into the room. “Will you be okay, Hannah? Shall I stay?”

“Oh, we’re quite alright in here, Jody, thank you!” Hannah’s kind voice said from inside the room. 

Castiel’s low voice followed Hannah’s, her tone by contrast sounding gravelly. “Will you bring Claire by after the finale, Jody? I’d like to say goodnight before—”

“Dean!” Jody said, her eyes wide as she looked up from Claire. At his name, Claire twirled on the spot too, and she grinned. 

“Dean! I did so good as Lilith, Dean!” 

Dean swallowed his nerves, diverting his gaze from Jody’s bewildered face to Claire’s happy one. The little girl giggled as he patted her on the head. 

“No one coulda played that girl other than you, Ms. Clairita,” Dean murmured, winking.

Jody stepped closer to him, maneuvering around Claire. Close to his face, she whispered, “It’s a mistake for you to be here. The Duke has Raphael—”

“I know,” Dean murmured, staring at her, the smile fading from his face, transitioning into a scowl. He nodded. “I know. I just have to talk to Cas—”

Jody looked furious. “That’s exactly where he’ll expect you to be!”

“Yeah,” Dean snorted, and growled bitterly. “Well, I have a feeling I won’t be here for too long.”

The resigned look on Jody’s face was only half the reason Dean’s heart sank. Castiel’s voice pulled his attention as she said, “What’re you doing here, Dean?”

He stepped into the dressing room. The light bulbs from her fancy mirrors shone bright, making the glittery dresses and hats along the walls glimmer brightly. Castiel sat in front of the mirror, holding a cloth under her jaw, and Hannah straddled the bench beside her, twisting a fresh cloth over a bath of ice water in her lap.

“Dean?” Hannah looked surprised, her thin, arched brows disappearing under her bangs.

Cas looked up, her eyes red. She cleared her throat and said roughly, “Get out, Dean.”

Dean stood there, his hands balled into fists. “I just came here to…” He immediately lost his nerve, anger bubbling up at the sight of her as his memories from this morning egged him on. “To…pay you.”

“Pay me?” Castiel asked her eyes wide. They looked unfairly blue above the rich blue tie that laid stark in contrast over her white blouse.

“For your services,” Dean snapped, annoyed that his eyes were stinging. “For all the time you wasted with me, pretending to tolerate me, trying your very, very best to convince me that you loved me.”

From a few feet down the hallway, he heard Charlie groan.

Castiel got to her feet, stumbling a bit and hissing, her hand immediately snapping up to her temple. “Leave, Dean,” she said through her teeth. “It’s over. Forget about me. Forget about paying me and forget about Heaven. Just go.”

She sounded out of breath.

“Castiel, maybe we should call Meg to take over—” Hannah said quickly, looking up at Castiel with worry, her hand wrapped around Castiel’s wrist. “She’s your understudy, she knows your lines, she—”

Cas yanked her hand away and pulled her palm away from her temple. Her fists curled down at her sides, and she shot Hannah a peeved look. “No! I didn’t come this far for nothing.” 

Hannah struggled to her feet as Castiel snatched Celeste’s beige trenchcoat from the bench beside her. Hannah didn’t put the ice bath aside in time before Cas was sweeping towards Dean. She threw him a look of disdain as she pushed past him into the hallway. “I have to go on. I’m—I’m on soon. Move.”

As she strode through the corridor rushedly, and shoved her arms into the sleeves, Dean followed her. “You told me when we met that you were paid to make men believe that you love them. How come they get to pay and I don’t? Why would you pretend to love me for free?”

“I don’t have time for this!” Castiel snapped, climbing the stairs, stumbling a bit on the second last one. “Sam’s scene is ending soon and then—oh, why am I telling you? You don’t care. Leave me alone. I’m on now. I have to—”

“Forget about the stupid play and talk to me!” Dean growled as they both stepped up onto the landing, and he grew tired of looking at the side or back of her head. She tried to duck into the side wing, but Dean grabbed her arm, swinging her back around towards him. Her hair twirled over her shoulder, tangling itself over her blue tie, and she looked aghast.

Castiel, as off as she seemed with the wincing and sweating a bit, shook her head and yanked her arm out of his grip. She rounded on him, eyes wide and flashing. 

“Let me go or I’ll scream,” she threatened. “There are people back here looking for you. They’ll come help me.”

Around them, Dean heard cast and crew begin to recognize him, their murmurs rising even over the clapping of the crowd that announced the end of the scene.

Dean stepped close to her, entering her aura of fury that waded off her in waves. He felt smothered, yet equally as angry. “How could you treat me like this? How could you treat me like I’m the bad guy here?”

The darkness seem to melt away, and Dean realised that the anger had been an act. In the shadow of the heavy curtain, where they were semi-hidden from everyone, Castiel swallowed, her shining eyes searching his face. 

“Cas, please,” he begged. “Tell me the truth. Just...tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

To his surprise, Cas’ face crumpled, and a small hiccupy sob shuddered past her painted lips. Her hand came up as her chin tilted down, the palm pressing against her temple again. “Not now. Not now. Please, please.” 

“Cas…”

She shoved past him again, back out into the semi-light of backstage. As she shoved past people, so did Dean. 

Before he could catch up with her, Cas made a sharp turn around a tall stack of apple boxes filled with props, but then she gasped and turned back around, pushing at Dean. Something changed in her demeanor and fear radiated off her in near-blast waves.

“Turn back!”

Dean was confused. He was especially confused when she began to run, pulling at his shirt insistently. “Talk to me, Cas, Jesus—”

“We have to run,” she wheezed, holding her head and pulling him away, down towards the other end of the stage. “He...he has a gun—”

Looking over his shoulder, he immediately saw Raphael step out from around the corner, looking after them. His dark eyes seemed to narrow in on him and Dean understood Castiel’s terror. In Raphael’s hand shone a shiny, brand new looking handgun. He smirked and raised it right at Dean—

They stumbled through the curtains into the crossover where they could travel from stage right to stage left, almost entirely in darkness as two heavy curtains hugged them from either side. 

“Hurry!” Castiel gasp-whispered. “The curtain. Quick, it’s going to...”

Dean was blinded momentarily as the curtains beside them slid apart, the stage lights shining right in his eye as he and Cas were suddenly very much on stage.

“...open.”

***

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Sam whispered. He had been moments away from stepping on stage, ready to take his place as Daniel, pacing the Green Room while Sean was supposedly off somewhere opening the 66th seal.

Gadreel, on the other side of the stage, mouthed “What the fuck?” to Sam, and shrugged. Between them, Dean and Cas were now on stage, right in the spotlight, right at the entrance of the Green Room set.

...Sam was very nearly the next one to go tumbling out on stage when a small, flailing redhead nearly slid right into his side. Charlie caught herself on Sam’s shirt, regaining her balance, but still not managing to catch her breath. With her eyes wide and her voice hushed, she gasped, “Sam!”

“What the hell is going on here, Char? Why is _Dean_ , of all people, on stage…? Is this like, the most secret understudy of all time? Am I being fired?”

“I have a feeling,” Charlie panted, “that we’re all fired, judging by the look on the Duke’s face.”

Sam followed her gaze, and found himself staring at Zachariah, who was every shade of purple, and wringing his hands in his lap as he glared at Dean.

Sam winced. “Yeah, we’re all so fi—”

He turned to find Meg walking up behind Charlie, her hands on her hips, her mouth turned down into a worried scowl.

“Shut up and listen!” Charlie whispered, frantically. Her eyes were wide and her tiny braids flew around her face as she gestured violently. “Meg came to find me, and Kevin and Hannah are heading up to the fly tower to get Ash. We need all hands on deck. This is bad, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded gravely. “Heard he’s parading around here with a gun to scare—”

“He’s not prowling around here with a gun to make Dean-o shake in his boots, Moose,” Meg growled, stepping into the group, her teeth bared. “Raphael has a gun because the Duke is going to have Dean killed.”

Sam scoffed, knowing after six months, the type of snake Meg could be some times. 

But Charlie reeled back, alarmed by his sass, and that put Sam on high alert. His forehead immediately tightened as he frowned and looked between the girls. “What are you up to? 

Meg looked impatient, gesturing out at the audience from the shadows. "The Duke is trying to have your brother _murdered_. Right now. Raphael is around here somewhere with a gun, and I don’t think he cares if Dean bleeds out right on stage. We have to hurry."

"Why do _you_ care about Dean?" Sam asked skeptically. 

Half-way through her turn to lead them backstage, Meg paused and looked over her shoulder at Sam. "I don't care about Dean. I care about Castiel. If Dean dies, she'll be broken." 

They ducked back into the area backstage, as the crew and some angels rushed to move props and costumes out of the way. Sam scowled. “Wait, what? I thought you hated them together.”

“I could never hate Castiel,” Meg said, shimmying her way around a group of actors pouring over the script. “Don’t you understand? I loved her first. Do you understand what it was like to see the one person I ever cared for love someone else?”

Sam blinked. “I didn’t know.”

Meg glared. “Well…now you know. And you know what? I was the one who made their love clear to the Duke. I wanted to tear them apart. But Castiel, she’s sick, and she deserving of happiness—happiness that your stupid brother can give her, clearly. I want her to have everything she wants… And she wants Dean.”

Sam and Meg jumped as their shoulders were clapped in unison, Charlie’s hands curling in the fabric of their costumes and pulling them back. They looked back at her and she looked between them in horror, her eyes wide. “Sorry to interrupt the feelings happening here, but I just saw Raphael duck into the stairwell.”

“Which one?” Sam asked, his eyes darting around to far dark stairwell leading up to the fly tower, and the other leading to the balcony where the actors smoked out back.

“Heading up to the fly tower,” Charlie said, shoving between them and leading the way. “Kevin and Hannah are already there, but we should block the exits from there. Sam, you take the east stairwell, Meg, you come with me. We’ll take the west.”

“Are you sure, guys? Do you want me to come with you?” Sam asked, eyeing the girls as they both turned on their heels and swept away.

Meg’s curls spun through the air as she looked back at him. "If he comes towards us, we’ll distract Raphael. You, go; save your brother, and my unicorn."


	18. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you recognize any dialogue, as per usual, it's from season 4 of SPN. :)

Dean and Castiel looked out into the audience. They both winced against the spotlight in their eyes, but lowered their hands as their eyes adjusted.

The theatre was filled with a tension-filled, awkward moment when they didn’t say anything.

Then, Cas lowered her shaking hand and she stood up straight. The Angel of Thursday took over, her face going blank. She let go of his hand and walked out on stage, stopping near the center. Then, she looked over her shoulder.

“ _Hello, Daniel_.”

Dean stared at her, then glanced out into the audience. “What…”

“ _What are you going to do about Shaun?_ ” Cas asked him in a whisper, feeding him the line. Her eyes pleaded with him. When Dean didn’t react, just gaping at her and furrowing his brows, she mouthed silently, “Please, Dean…”

Dean didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he stepped out on stage, glancing out at the crowd nervously before he stood beside her. His real anger tinging his voice, he growled out, loud enough that his voice projected in the quiet theatre, “ _What are you going to do about Shaun?_ ”

“ _Nothing,_ ” Castiel said, turning to him. Her facial features remained impassive, but he saw her eyes shining, looking red under heavy dark makeup. “ _He’s going to do it to himself._ ”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ” Dean snapped, his fingers rubbing at his palms, his shoulders tensing as the muscles fought to curl in tension.

As it was scripted, Castiel looked down at the floor, her hair blocking her face. He saw her sniffle and shudder in the privacy her curtain of hair afforded her. The audience began to murmur, and he was sure it was because they had no idea who the shorter guy with short hair was doing in Sam’s place.

Still, the scene was fresh in his mind. He’d been the one to write it, after all.

 _“Oh, right, right. Got to toe the company line_ …” Dean paused, looking out into the audience, then back at Cas. “ _Why are you here, Celeste?_ ”

“ _We've…_ ” She looked up at him, and Dean’s heart broke at the expression on her face. She looked shattered in every way, tears thick in a glaze over her eyes, and her chin trembling. He knew she was acting, but it was still painful to see. “ _We’ve been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry we ended like this_.”

“‘ _Sorry_ ’? _This is it, Cas. You need a bigger word than ‘sorry’_.”

Cas stepped towards him, her face pinched, the tops of her cheeks red and blotchy. “ _Try to understand—this…this was long foretold! It was never supposed to end well for us. You knew who I was. You knew who I served. This is our_ —”

Dean stepped forward and grabbed her trenchcoat by the collar. Gently, he shook her, simultaneously sliding into character but also being entirely true to himself. “ _Destiny? Don't give me that crap. Destiny? God’s plan? It's all a bunch of lies, you stupid, silly girl!_ ”

Castiel winced, her mouth trembling as she pressed her lips together, but Dean went on, his voice rising, “ _It's just a way for Zac—Zyon to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? Us. Our love. True love...that's real. And you're gonna let Shaun die and you’re going to let me go, after everything we’ve done, everything we’ve experienced… You’re gonna watch it all burn?_ ”

Cas raised her hand to his wrist and forcefully removed it from her jacket, throwing it aside. She inhaled sharply and rasped, “ _What is so worth salvaging? I see nothing but heartache here. I see inside you. I-I feel it inside of myself now. We don’t have a future, De...Danie_ l.” She jutted her finger against her chest, denting the shining blue tie. “ _I am an angel and you’re just a man. Where will we run where we won’t be hunted_?”

And that’s when Dean realised she was saying Celeste’s lines, but speaking from her heart. From her actual heart, not the one crafted in steel that the Angel of Thursday carried with her. These words were her truth, not Balthazar’s or the Duke's or Naomi’s.

"Anywhere," Dean breathed.

“ _That’s not how this works,_ ” she cried, her voice breaking as one tear slid down her face, cutting through makeup. “ _He’ll find us and he’ll kill us, and then everything will truly be for nothing! If I stay, if I do what he tells me, then at least I’ll be serving my purpose, I’ll be in service of Heaven. And if you just accept this ending, you’ll be free. You'll be at peace, with Shaun_.”

God, just the smallest sliver of hope that she might still be his, that she still loved him, made his vision tremble and a heat build in his chest that spread through his limbs. But the rage won out, remembering what she’d said this morning. He felt torn apart, unsure what was real...Maybe she really was just a good actress. After all, if she had been telling the truth, that’s what it all boiled down to; she was just acting, playing a part in a story and tricking him into playing along?

In character, remembering the words from the page as he’d written them. Dean, as Daniel, stepped towards her and gestured aggressively with a shaking finger. “ _You can take your peace and you can choke on it, Celeste. 'Cause I'll take the heartache if it means I get to feel love. And as for the apocalypse? I'll even take Shaun as is. It's a lot better than being some whore for Heaven. This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it._ ”

Castiel stepped back, away from Dean. She looked out into the crowd, eyes wide. Dean followed her gaze, and found the Duke seething in the audience of confused faces. Castiel and Dean looked at each other again, Dean’s jaw clenched and Castiel’s mouth parted. She raised a hand to her head and winced terribly, obviously in pain. She turned away, walking deeper onto the set of the Green Room. She pressed her hand to a wall, curling forward and whimpering.

The crowd murmured to each other in confusion, but Dean couldn’t care any less about the fucking play or the stupid theatre.

“ _Look at me!_ ” He took Castiel by the shoulder and turned her around, stepping into her space.

Dean searched her face, but she was gasping and trying to hide quiet, harsh sucking in of breath. He watched her chest heave and tears streaking down the side of her face. This wasn’t supposed to happen; Celeste was supposed to be strong—tormented and confused—but Castiel looked entirely broken.

“Look at me!” Dean repeated.

It was part of the script. It was part of the scene, but she gasped and grabbed her head. He wanted to sympathize with her, to offer comfort, but he didn’t even know who she was? Celeste? The Angel of Thursday?

Or his sunshine, hiding under spotlights and an audience of people expecting her to be someone else?

Dean stared at her when she shook and lifted her head slowly like it weighed fifty pounds. Her lips trembled and she sniffed wetly.

“ _You know it,”_ he recited the lines, but his voice wavered as tears stung at his own eyes, an emotional release of his exhaustion with all this, his frustration with everything that happened to them, and feelings of betrayal from her. The words were real, even if they were scripted; “ _You loved me once, didn’t you? You were gonna run away with me before they dragged you back to Heaven_?”

“ _What would you have me do?_ ” she rasped, her tears dragging through her makeup, her nose red and running, though she sniffed sharply and ran the trench coat under her nose.

“Tell me the truth,” Dean begged. “We can stop this before it's too late. And then we can run.”

That was _not_ scripted, not entirely. The line was ‘we fight’, but Dean thought he kind of meant that anyway.

Castiel’s swayed. She blinked sweat from her eyes, but pulled her shoulders back, training her face to go more stoic. “ _I do that?_ ” she said, her voice hoarse. “ _We will all be hunted. We’ll all be killed._ ”

Dean stepped towards her, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. With piercing, concentrated eyes, he stared at her and reached out, hands cupping either side of her face.

“ _If there’s anything worth dying for,_ ” he said slowly, eyes searching her face, “ _this is it. Art, hope. Freedom. Free will. Choice_.” Dean’s voice trembled for a second, then he continued, his eyes a confusing sea of emotion, waves of anger and desperation fighting against each other. “Us, Castiel; love.”

She was supposed to say something, he knew Celeste had lines but she looked shattered, her face twisting in pain. Dean’s eyes weren’t leaving her face. They begged her to speak, not for the play, but for him. They begged her to say what he desperately needed to hear.

Castiel released a small hiccup and more tears slid down her face. The rest of the world seemed blurry but Dean was uncaring, only focusing on her, standing in front of him, waiting, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.

Still, she said nothing.

Dean shifted closer, his eyes widening a bit in realization. “It was real, wasn’t it?” he breathed. “We were real.”

And that’s when the dam broke. Castiel reached up, grasping at her chest, her fingers digging into the white shirt and the blue tie, wrapping around them. Her shoulders shook as she cried silently, visibly biting down on her tongue.

“Just say yes, just say you love me, Cas, please,” Dean whispered, his face so close. The hard edge to his voice was gone. He was pleading with her, ripped open and vulnerable before her. “This is the last time I’ll ask. I’ll...leave tonight. You say yes, and I’ll take you away from here.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. Her other hand came up and pressed over her mouth.

That was when he realized what she was saying with her choked silence; she couldn’t go with him, she couldn’t do his ending. It had to be Zachariah’s, for Heaven. She was really Celeste and Dean was really Daniel.

Their ending wasn’t feasible.

Heaven would collapse if she ran.

When Dean’s hands slipped off of her face, Castiel’s hands moved into her hair, gripping the locks tightly and pressing her palms into her temples. She had lines, but she stayed silent. This was where his ending stopped, and Zachariah's started.

Dean stepped away from her and whispered, “ _You coward._ ”

And then he walked away. Away from her, towards the steps leading from the stage down into the center aisle, where he’d eventually reach the exit and disappear. He’d pack his things, wait for Sam, hop on a train and leave her. She would remain in Heaven…forever. With Zachariah. Just how Balthazar and Naomi had always planned.

“Dean!”

She had cried out his name, but...

“We’re done,” Dean barked over his shoulder in response to her desperate cry, barely turning his head to give her a glance as he descended the stairs.

***

Castiel looked out at the audience, noticing Zachariah in the front row, on the edge of his seat, his hands balled into fists, his eyes bulging and furious. He was staring at Dean like he wanted to murder him. Of course, she realised, he’d try, whether or not Castiel stayed with him. It wasn’t about her, it was about domination, power.

Castiel turned towards the audience and took a few steps, following Dean.

“Dean, please!” she cried after him, her breath ragged, the steps she took towards him knocking the wind out of her. She felt her legs tremble.

“We’re done!” Dean yelled furiously, not turning back this time, not sparing her a glance. His shoes clicked on the hard floor of Heaven, his back turned to her, his shoulders a hard line. She watched him in desperation, watched him turn his collar up, preparing for the cold of storm outside.

Dean kept walking towards the exit.

Cas stood there, on the edge of the stage, at the top of the stairs. Her head was splitting down the middle, her vision blurring around the edges. Still, she had to do one thing before she let this disease take her consciousness yet again.

“167.”

Dean slowed his gait, his back to her. The audience turned to stare at him, but tilted back to her as she spoke. They had seemed to forget that he was a different actor, again wrapped up in the story.

She inhaled deeply, filling her gasping lungs with air. Then she chattered, “You have 167 freckles on your face. 54 on the left shoulder and 47 on the right. I counted. You were right, all those times. I counted.”

The audience hummed with subdued laughter, but Dean didn’t turn around. He did stop, though. The line of his shoulders were hard, his fists were balled at his sides.

Desperately, Castiel confessed, “When all instinct told me an angel couldn’t ever love a man like you, I told Hannah anyway because I felt emotions for you right away. And you were right; my superiors began to question my loyalty, they saw that I was falling for a human in my charge. You.”

Dean’s head turned, his eyes downcast.

“From the moment I touched you,” she breathed, though a pin could be heard dropped in the theatre. “I was lost.”

The Duke was making gestures to someone behind her, but she ignored him, with eyes only for Dean.

She caught her breath and walked forward. “I am an angel, Dean,” she said. “But you make me feel human. I love art, and freedom, and choice. I love you.”

Finally, Dean turned. He stared at her, his expression unreadable in the dim house lighting. She smiled, though every muscle in her face felt bruised and aching. “I raised you tight and raised you from perdition, but you gripped me tight and pulled me down to you. And you held me for every minute I fell from Heaven. You showed me what it’s like to be on the other side, and for the first time, I _feel.”_

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor. A lock of blonde hair fell to his forehead and the fists loosened at his side.

“And I’m sorry,” she laughed, feeling choked, feeling like she was suffocating. “I’m trouble. I...It’s like I came off the line with a break in my chassis. I’m cursed, but—”

“I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”

Castiel raised a hand to her mouth and cried in earnest as Dean replied. She pulled up her other hand as Dean began walking back towards her.

The audience turned gleefully as he began walking towards her. Naomi, who sat behind the Duke, got to her feet, gesturing to Castiel to stop, dragging a finger across her throat. But then Dean was on stage and he gathered Castiel in his arms. He was warm, and smelled like rain and leather, and suddenly the play, and Heaven, and the Duke, and every ounce of torment in her life fell away. Castiel pressed her forehead to Deans and whispered, “It was real, the whole thing. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—.”

“I love you,” Dean whispered.

The audience broke out into cheers and applause as their lips met. Dean cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in close. She felt him inhale deeply, then sigh against her lips.

Drowned out by the cheering, she pulled away and rasped hoarsely, “I love you. I’ll go with you. Let’s do the original ending.”

His smile was marvelous—wide and cheeky, and looked frankly stunning as his green eyes glistened happily. Nuzzling her face with his, Dean murmured, “Let’s finish this with our ending. And then—”

“—we run” she whispered.

While they’d hardly paid attention to the audience over the last few minutes, suddenly, they both turned to look out at them. The purple hues of the Duke’s flushed, enraged face, and Naomi’s murderous look meant nothing to her now. The show was almost done. She was going to get her ending with Dean, and there was nothing Naomi or the Duke could do about it.

There was a rustling noise. Dean was reaching into the trench coat she wore, and for only a moment did she ponder what he was doing, before she realised she still had the blood packets in her pocket from when they’d rehearsed the original ending.

Their hands met long enough for the packet to be passed from one palm to the other. She hoped Balthazar was watching, and that he’d play along.

The audience gasped as she pulled her angel blade from her pocket. The weapon was real—she’d insisted on having it with her, especially after the incident with the police chief, and most certainly after the night in the tower with the Duke. Everyone had been so cautious about leaving them alone together all day today, but luckily she hadn’t needed to use it.

She’d already crushed the blood packet in her hand by the time she opened her fingers and pretended to cut herself. It bled over her palm, her blade hovering half-an-inch above her actual skin.

She would have to congratulate Charlie on making such realistic blood. The dark red dribbled down the side of her hand and onto the stage. Training her face to look determined, Castiel pushed past Dean, towards the wall of the set, beginning to smear the blood on the wallpaper beside a grande painting of archangel Michael that used to hang in the lounge.

“What are you doing, Celeste?” Dean exclaimed, pretending to be confused. Castiel made a mental note to advise him that he was a wonderful actor, like his brother.

“Making it up as I go,” she replied fiercely.

They were, she realised. She was, Dean was, and Balthazar was.

Balthazar, donning a sharp suit and a matching angel blade—also his own personal one—kicked through the door onto the set from the side wing. Though his face was furious, Castiel had decades of time to know that Balthazar’s eyes were kind. He knew he’d lost her; and he was letting go.

“Are you trying to trick me, Celeste?!” Balthazar snarled, improving his lines. He gestured at Dean with his blade, waggling it in the air towards him. “A glamour spell can’t hide your mud monkey. No haircut or magic will fool me. I know that’s Daniel—the righteous man, the hunter—there with you! What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

As Castiel’s hand picked up the pace, her hands shaking as her head pounded, Balthazar cried out, “Wait, just what do you think you’re doing?”

On cue, as per their dress rehearsal, from the fly tower, Ash swept a bright light out towards the crowd—effectively blinding them for a moment. While the crowd winched and gasped, the trapdoor under Balthazar’s feet opened, and he dropped down into the bowels of the stage. When the light faded, there was nothing but wooden floor where Balthazar used to stand.

Dean and Castiel turned towards each other. Rushedly, she rasped, “Zyon won’t be long. We have to find Shaun. Now.”

“Where is he?” Dean said, looking around.

“I don’t know. But I know who does. We have to stop him, Daniel, from killing Lilith.”

Dean gestured at the closed doors and scowled at her. “But Lilith is going to break the final seal.”

Castiel grabbed Dean by the wrist, tugging him towards the door. They stopped in front of it, their hands joined.

“Daniel, Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

***

The end did not begin, at least, they didn’t think so. Dean and Castiel had thought they’d won; not only would they get their ending, but so would Daniel and Celeste.

All the actors, Meg included—surprisingly—played along with the original ending without complaint. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed overjoyed about the ending—both of the endings, for Castiel and for Celeste. There was a general understanding that this ending was right, it was poetic, it was romantic. It embodied the bohemian spirit of freedom and love.

It was a big fuck you to the Duke, too. It seemed, everyone—not only Dean and Castiel—were fed up with the Duke. More than one angel, including Uriel, approached the two of them and said things to the effect of, “Let’s show this Duke what Heaven is really made of.”

While Gadreel, Meg, and Rachel acted out the final scene between Shaun, Ruby, and Lilith, Dean and Castiel waited breathlessly in the wings.

“Where’s Sam?” Castiel whispered, standing just out of view of the audience in the left wing. Her eyes scanned backstage, her brow furrowed.

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, and scowled as well, shaking his head. His leg bounced nervously. “I’m getting worried, Cas. I don’t want to go act out that last scene too—we haven’t seen Raphael in a while and everyone is saying he has a gun and is looking for me...To be out on stage, all exposed like that… Have you been watching the Duke’s face? The second the curtains close for the night, he’ll have my head.”

Castiel ran the back of her wrist over her forehead. “I’ll be on in a minute, if Sam doesn’t show up...SAM!”

Dean wasn’t sure what captured his attention more, Castiel’s exclamation or Sam’s gaggle of heavy, long limbs half-running, half-stumbling down the rickety steps up to the fly tower.

As Sam jogged towards them, they noticed a sheen of sweat on his skin, but a triumphant glitter in his eye.

“Where have you been?” Dean began to ask, but Sam swept past him, grabbing Castiel by the hand.

“Long story!” Sam yell-whispered, tugging Cas towards the stage. He beamed at them both, sweaty fringe flopping into his eyes. “But in sum, Kevin is bad-to-the-bone, and we owe him our lives—well, yours specifically. Now,” he stopped, skidding to a halt before going on stage. He looked between Dean and Castiel, and he said, “let’s get Daniel and Celeste their ending, and stop the apocalypse.”

He and Castiel disappeared on stage, while Dean gaped at his little brother, who’d swept past them like a tornado of fast-talking and bravado. He’d even forgotten to make the joke that he didn’t want him to use any tongue with Castiel.

Dean turned to go up the stairs, when Charlie and Kevin came running down, chattering excitedly.

“Hey!” Dean barked. “Where’ve you been? What’s Sam blabbering on about? Something about Kevin being bad-to-the-bone?”

Charlie threw her arm around Kevin as they formed a circle at the bottom of the steps. She squeezed and planted a kiss on Kevin’s grumpy, blushing face.

“Kevin here,” Charlie gushed, her eyes shining with excitement, “just knocked out Raphael with his own gun! LOOK!”

She yanked at Kevin’s sleeve, while Kevin lifted his hand to show a bloody gun held gingerly between his fingers. The boy grimaced, holding it away from himself like it stunk.

“Yeah.” Kevin shrugged. “We heard Raphael was going around looking for you. Meg said he was gonna ‘take you out back and bury a bullet in your brain’—her words, not mine,” Kevin added, when Dean’s eyes went wide. “Anyway, we all went looking for him. Turns out the glorified hitman was trying to sneak up onto the fly tower to get a good shot at you from above—”

“Unlucky for him,” Charlie interrupted gleefully, “Ash was up there, controlling the lights. He swung that big spotlight to shine on Castiel, and clipped Raphael ‘by accident’—” she made finger quotes. “—So, whoops, the gun slid across the floor, and while Raphael was busy scolding Ash, Kevin was comin’ up the stairs with me! He grabbed the gun and smacked Raphie right in the back of the head. Went down like a sack of bricks.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he glanced up at the platforms above us. Ash peered over the edge at him, and grinned bit as he waved. Dean waved back weakly, and then asked, “Uh, so Ash is up there with an unconscious Raphael?”

Charlie released Kevin—which made Kevin look all sorts of relieved, rubbing at his face—and waved her hand vaguely. “Meh. Ash has got it covered. If he wakes up, he has a few sandbags on his arms and legs to slow him down. If he tries to wake up, he’ll drop another on him for good measure and send us a signal.”

“What’s the signal?”

Kevin and Charlie exchanged looks, then looked back at Dean. They shrugged. “‘RAPHAEL IS AWAKE, RUN AWAY!’” Charlie replied, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Kevin smirked. “Y’know, for clarity.”

“Shall we watch the play?” Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows. “It’s the last scene and then it’s curtain call. Might as well see it while this place is open. I can’t imagine the Duke will want to continue funding it, and Naomi—”

“Won’t shut it down,” Kevin interrupted, smirking. As they came to a stop at the edge of the wing, watching Sam and Castiel hold onto Rachael—or rather, Shaun and Celeste hold Lilith off from dying at midnight—Dean and Charlie turned to Kevin.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, eyebrows frowning.

Kevin jutted his thumb out at Naomi and the Duke, who were whispering furiously to each other in the audience. “Maybe the Duke will pull funding, but Naomi came to me this afternoon to confirm ticket sales. We not only sold out the show, but there’s press here tonight; theatre critics for the New York Times. They’re doing a column on our story—and if it’s good, we’ll get a whole page spread.”

Charlie and Dean’s jaw dropped and they exchanged looks of shock. Kevin beamed, which was the happiest Dean had ever seen him. He went on, his voice fast and excited. “We’ve got enough money to keep us afloat for months. And you know who came up to Naomi at intermission? Eugene O’Neill!”

“ _No_!” Dean breathed. His head slammed against his chest.

“Yes!” Kevin whispered. “He’s famous, Dean! He did Anna Christie and Beyond the Horizon! I-I think he wants Naomi to show one of his plays here! We’d be _rich!_ Who needs the Duke when we have good press?”

“He could tear us all down,” Dean said, ashamed to break up the hope, but it had to be said. He winced. “He could make bad press, he could—”

But Charlie pointed out at the stage and laughed, “He could certainly try, but the entire city is here to witness all the talent on this stage. I would love to see what kind of chaos he’d try to bring us here. I’d like to see how far one man’s word would go ahead of all the amazing art we’re making. We sing, we dance, we create, we love, we are colourful, and musical, and—”

“I got her, I got her!” Hannah’s shrill yelp came up from the stairs leading up from the dressing rooms. She was struggling to carry a gleeful-looking Claire, and a leather satchel full of clothing items, bursting over the top. “Char, I got—”

Looking red under the confusion of Dean’s stare, Charlie shushed her as she approached. The audience burst into applause and cheering on the other end of the curtains.

“Ms. Charlie! Hannah said I get to meet my mama tonight, after the play. She said she’s going to take me home!” Claire squealed, overjoyed. “She’s here, she really exists! She—”

“I stole her from Jody,” Hannah panted, interrupting the little girl, who didn’t seem to care and all but had stars in her eyes. “I said I’d take her to get a better seat, to watch from backstage. We don’t have much time!”

“The play is just finishing,” Charlie said to Hannah. “And, uh, maybe we got a little ahead of ourselves, assuming they’d have to run _right away,_ and by getting Claire—”

Hannah huffed, looking between them all, “Well, you’ve got another thing coming if you think they’re gonna run away from the Duke without me and Claire. One, I won’t have it, and two, Castiel _certainly_ won’t be leaving without her daughter.”

“Her what?” Dean choked out, but was drowned out as the cast and crew broke out into shrieks and cheers of joy, mixing in with the audience that were clapping thunderously on the other side of the curtain.

Sam, Rachel, Meg, and Castiel all came off stage. The second they stepped into the dim space, they were rushed by hugs. Sam laughed and accepted them, while Castiel squeezed through, reaching out towards Dean.

“We’re done,” she gasped. “We did it, we—”

“You have a daughter?” Dean asked, unable to help himself. He was breathless, blinking at her.

She glanced at Claire and Hannah, and then at Dean, her eyes wide. Dean didn’t get a single moment to tell her he didn’t care, that he was just curious, before Cas raised her hand to her mouth and tears immediately gathered at her lash line.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Castiel blurted out in a hiccup. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

A tiny high-pitched noise of surprised escaped Hannah’s throat, and she breathed, “So he doesn’t know?”

Castiel looked panicked, looking between Hannah and Claire and Dean. Claire was watching her strangely, her tiny brows knitted. “Miss Castiel,” her tiny voice said, searching Cas’ face, “Miss Hannah said I get to meet my mama today.”

The colour drained from Cas’ face so quickly Dean was frightened, with the combination of stress, and that sheen of sweat on her skin, that she’d pass out.

But Castiel just chattered, sounding on the verge of some serious tears; “I-I got pregnant with Jimmy, Dean. I-It was an accident. It was just an accident, b-but Naomi sent me away. Told everyone I was on tour.” Cas sucked in a harsh breath, tears tumbling down her face. “W-When I got back, we staged finding her on the doorstep, and Jimmy made to adopt her with Amelia, b-but...but then they… they _died,_ and I...I was so young, and too valuable to the club. Naomi wouldn’t l-let me keep her, so if she was here under Jody’s care, that was the only w-way I’d be allowed to see her… Please, Dean. Don’t be angry. Please—”

His hands were on her cheeks in moments, pulling her hands away, and he had every intention of comforting her, assuring her that everything would be fine. He didn’t think he could love her more, but with Claire? His heart swelled and he felt a rush of joy. He loved Claire, he loved Cas. Seeing the little girl’s face, and her big blue eyes with matching dark brown lashes, he felt stupid for never seeing the resemblance. Of course she was her daughter. Of course Claire was hers. It explained so much…

“Cas, it’s okay,” he whispered to her, wiping at her tears with his thumb. “It’s okay… Cas?”

Cas’ eyes had glazed over and she stared off into space. Her mouth went slack, save for the moments where she looked to be chewing. A rattling breath escaped her lips, and her pale skin went entirely white like paper.

“Hold her!” Hannah cried out in a panic, stepping forward but unable to help because of Claire. He freehand was used to push Claire’s face against her neck, turning her away.

Dean held Cas, pulling her close so if her legs gave out, she wouldn’t fall. Whispering breathy words of comfort that were gentle and calm even though he felt like screaming, he pushed hair from her face.

Her seizure was quiet, and didn’t last more than a minute. Regardless, Dean felt like it lasted an hour, fearful that she’d swallow her tongue, the way she was rolling it around in her mouth. The confused, foggy look to her normally alert and fiery blue eyes made his heartbreak.

“Guys!” Charlie whispered, peering through the curtain with Kevin, too busy gazing out into the audience to notice Cas. “Guys, look!

“Kinda busy over here!” Dean growled, struggling to hold Cas up as she regained focus, blinking slowly at his lips and struggling on her feet to regain balance, no longer resting her entire body weight against him.

“Dean?” she murmured, confused, her brows knitting together. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, flashing her a smile. “You just had a little fit, okay? It’s just stress, it’s probably just the stress, but you’re a tough girl, you powered through.”

Castiel hummed, licking at her lips. Dean pushed hair from her face.

“The Duke!” Kevin whispered. “He’s leaving!”

Cas seemed to perk up at that. Faintly, she looked at Kevin. “The Duke...is leaving?”

“Sure is, sunshine.” Dean tugged a handkerchief from his pocket. ”Leaving us alone, leaving Heaven.”

“Oh,” she breathed, one of her hands faintly patting at his arm. Though she was confused, her eyes still lit up. “I love you. Am I okay?”

Dean patting at her forehead with a handkerchief. “You’re okay,” he murmured as she blinked away the seizure, though her eyes searched his face happily. Dean grinned at her. “You’re okay, and the Duke is leaving, Cas. You won’t have to put up with him anymore. He won’t take you anywhere. You and me? We did it. We survived him, sunshine.”

The enormous group hug and excited chatter broke apart as much of the crew and cast began filtering out for the curtain call.

“Oh!” Claire wiggled in Hannah’s arms. “Miss Hannah, can I go bow with all the other actors? Please? I was in the play too! I wore a red ribbon!”

Hannah let her down, but pointed at Meg, who was shimmying her way out of the group hug. “Take Claire, let her bow, and bring her right back. If the Duke or Naomi try to get their hands on her, run.”

To everyone’s surprise, Meg nodded and took Claire by the hand. She quirked an eyebrow at her. “You coming?”

Hannah glanced at Castiel and frowned. “I’ll join near the end. Just...protect her.”

Claire bounced off with Meg.

As soon as Meg was gone with Claire, Sam crouched, and surprised everyone by throwing his arms around Hannah’s thighs and lifting her into the air, laughing freely. “We did it, Han! We did the play! Did we see all of those people?!”

To Dean’s shock, Hannah laughed and tanged her fingers in Sam’s hair, bringing his face close to hers. They kissed with all the love they had, their arms around each other, Hannah’s feet dangling off the ground.

Charlie had been right; how could he have missed Sam and Hannah falling in love all these months? They were radiating joy from their pores like the sun radiated heat in the summer.

“We did, baby,” Hannah gasped as the broke apart, pressing her forehead to Sam’s. “ _You_ did it. You and Cas. You babes were amazing, I’m so proud! And the Duke, he was furious.”

Kevin snorted, pulling away from the curtain, still waving around Raphael’s gun. “He screamed at Naomi and Balthazar in front of everyone, said he was leaving, that he was done with Heaven. Stomped out like the big toddler he looks like!”

“The necklace,” Cas murmured, leaning on Dean, looking exhausted, but the happiest she’d been in years. “He can have it. I don’t need diamonds anymore. I have everything I need.”

“Free will?” Dean asked, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Cas tipped her head up, her fingers brushing his jawline. Her eyes watched his lips as she said, “Love.”

“Family,” Dean added, and his eyes flickered up to where Meg was leading Claire back to them, the small girl babbling and bouncing with excitement.

Castiel looked touched, her eyes searching his face. Then, quietly, she said, “Yes. Family.”

Dean pulled away from her, feeling she was at least strong enough to stand. “I’ll grab Claire, and we can talk with her, we can—”

“Let’s get out of here and celebrate,” Charlie said, throwing her hands up, looking around eagerly. “Bobby and Rufus are in here somewhere, maybe we can convince them to let us throw an after-party at Singer’s—”

“RAPHAEL IS MISSING!” Ash’s gravely cry came from up above. “HE KNOCKED ME OUT AND ESCAPED, HE COULD BE ANYW—”

Charlie’s terrified eyes widened suddenly, urging everyone to turn around. She shrieked suddenly, “Cas, watch out!”

None of them had time to react as Raphael appeared from the dark side stairwell. He swept in before anyone could do anything, his arm pulled back, an angel blade—probably dropped by the stairwell door—now glittering in his hand.

Still disoriented, Cas didn’t turn around in time. She looked confused as they all looked her way.

“NO!” Dean screamed, reaching out for Cas.

Their fingers met just in time for Cas to inhale sharply, her smile fading, her eyes instantly going glossy as the Raphael drove the blade through her back, the point bursting out from her side, just under her ribs.

Just as quickly, the angel blade was wrenched out with a slick squelch. Blood gushed from the hole, winding out of the wound and soaking into the white dress-shirt in brilliant red pooling.

“A farewell message from the Duke: She was bought and paid for. She was his.” Raphael announced as he backed up. “If she can’t be his, she’ll be no one’s; not Heaven’s, not the hunter’s.”

On that note, as everyone burst into action, Raphael spun on his heel and ran, disappearing into the dark side stairwell. Sam, Kevin, and Ash pushed off their feet, running after him. There was screaming—Hannah and Charlie, and a roar of ‘no!’ that sounded like it came from Meg. A shrill scream escaped what sounded to be Claire.

Quickly, however, sound became unimportant, all except for the gurgling in Cas’ throat, and her moan as her knees gave out. Dean threw himself forward, catching her before she hit the ground.

With his one hand holding her head, the other pressing against her wound, Dean lowered her to the ground, half-pulled into his lap.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not that bad,” Dean whispered to her, his voice shaking as Cas gasped for air, but pulled nothing but blood into her mouth as it stained the cracks in her dry lips. Dean wrenched his head up and was met with the sight of Charlie holding Hannah to her chest, and Meg visibly shaking, holding Claire to her chest, her eye impossibly wide as Cas bled out.

“Get help!” Dean yelled, his face growing increasingly hot and his eyes stinging. In his arms, Cas buckled, her hand coming up to grip at Dean’s shirt. Hot blood dripped onto Dean’s pants, spreading over his thigh.

From between the curtains, Uriel came to a sliding halt, his gun in his hand. “What is wrong with you people? There are still audience members out there. What’s with all the screaming—”

“Raphael,” Charlie gasped, tear tracks down her face shining. “He did this to Cas—”

Uriel’s eyes went wide as he followed her gaze.

“Someone get help,” Dean choked out, running his hand over Cas’ face, trying not to get blood on her. Not waiting to see where Uriel went, he curled in towards Cas, pulling her as close as he could. In his lap, he rocked her. “They’ll get help. We’ll get you help, sunshine. You’ll be all right—”

With a cough, Cas wheezed, her eyes rolling a bit. Her head wobbled on his shoulder, but she chattered out, “I chose you, Dean. You’re my ending.”

The trembling of his heart sent shocks down Dean’s arms, and his shaking got worse, fear and pain tinging every word as it trembled off his tongue. He wanted to scream. “I chose you too, Cas. Just hold on, we’ll get a doctor. We’ll…”

Her fingers reached up and pushed weakly at a tear tumbling down his face.

“Don’t cry, Dean,” she said wetly, her tongue pushing blood over her lips, out of her mouth. Despite that, she choked a bit and Dean had to wrench her up into a seated position. She groaned in pain. “I’ll go to...Heaven, the real one. You and I, and Claire too, we’ll be...there together forever, one day. Like Celeste and Daniel. Our very own H-Heaven.”

“No,” Dean moaned, his shoulders beginning to shake, his face contorted in pain. Crying openly, he sobbed, shaking his head. His hand ran over her face again, trying to pull the blood away from her chin. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no…”

Hannah and Charlie both cried out, while Meg dropped down to her knees with a thud as Castiel arched up, choking on blood. Once her eyes rolled back, blood began pouring from her mouth in pink foam, and she seized in Dean’s arms.

“Help me!” Dean screamed, lowering her to the ground as her muscles tightened and her eyes rolled white, lashes fluttering wildly. “Someone help me, oh, God…”

The blood squirted from the wound in her side, and the white shirt was now almost entirely red, the tip of the blue tie a rich purple. Dean only half-felt Kevin dropped down on Cas’ other size as the seizing subsided, but he let him pull Cas onto her side and press the jacket he’d been wearing against the front of the wound. Hannah dropped down beside Dean and followed suit, pushing her own jacket into Dean’s hand. “Press it there, D-Dean. Press it there until we get h-h-help!”

“Dean,” Castiel choked, retching around more pink foam as it dragged down her cheek, falling into a pool of crimson that spread under her face. “I lov…”

“I know,” he chattered, his teeth rattling in his head, his heart beating a mile a minute. With one hand occupied, pushing Hannah’s coat into the back of Cas’ wound, Dean curled over her, turning her face up to look at him. Glassy eyes stared back at him.

“Me too, sunshine,” Dean whispered, blinking hard to clear his vision, his hot tears dripping down into her hair. He patted her cheek when she didn’t respond. “Cas, it’s okay. It’s okay… Cas?”

On the floor of Heaven, with Dean’s hand under her face, Castiel went still, the gurgling in her throat lessening. Her eyes slid shut, taking all the colour in the room with her. Her head felt heavy in his palm.

He shook her.

“...Cas?”

Somewhere, Meg moaned. Claire cried quietly, frightened. Hannah’s sobbed wildly. Sam, Ash, and Kevin returned, their footsteps trampling, then coming to a hard stop somewhere to his right. Dean had to be pulled away from Cas, his skin drained of colour, tears shining over his face and neck.

As he wailed, Sam did nothing more than just hold his brother as the entire world collapsed.

She was still. She was quiet.

She was gone.


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. You've gotten this far... you're a super star. <3
> 
> Please leave me a comment after the epilogue to let me know your final thoughts. I adore hearing from readers. 
> 
> Finally, please join SPN MBB in it's next round! We'll be putting up information about it on the tumblr very soon. Please follow the tumblr to read more SPN MBB fic/art contributions and keep up-to-date on updates from us, the mods. :)
> 
> Much love!
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> jscribbles

The theatre buzzed as the crowd filtered in, finding their seats, greeting their friends. The show was set to start soon, but all that currently graced the stage was a heavy royal blue curtain. It shimmered as it swayed softly, rustled by the energy in the room and no doubt, the scrambling actors and bustling crew behind it.

In the frantic, excited energy of the theatre, Dean sat quietly in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. It was brown paneling, and elegant. It was certainly nothing compared to the mural of heaven and hell painted on the domed ceiling of Heaven.

Dean looked away quickly, shifting in his seat. He watched the curtains open, his stomach turning nervously, as the play began. Nothing happened for a few moments, allowing the audience to quieten. Any stragglers took their seats, and a hushed silence overcame the crowd, all their faces turned towards the stage. Every face was cast in dark blue light, their eyes all reflecting the same image of a wide space, the floor slowly disappearing under curling, heavy fog, and a lone actor standing in the center—their head hung, long brown hair dangling in his face.

It had taken a long time to be comfortable being near a stage, and curtains, and to feel the heat of spotlights. Even the musty smell of theatres jogged with Dean’s imagination; it never smelled only like a theatre; it smelled like the metallic stench of blood, mixed it the musty curtain and actors’ sweat mixing with Castiel’s old perfume in Heaven. Every time he looked at those heavy, thick curtains, he remembered being shadowed by them as he held Castiel, dying in his arms, the heavy red velvet separating the worst night of his life from the cheering, oblivious audience that clapped thunderously in appreciation of her performance.

It had taken months for Dean to want to step foot in that place again; the club, the stage, the entire entertainment complex. Everything about it reminded him of that night, and jarringly reminded him of blood, and the sick squelch of an angel blade sliding in and out of Castiel’s torso. And even so, even avoiding the place, he managed to have nightmares about it for many moons. The only thing that brought him solace from that night, was the fact that Raphael was a snake and had immediately sold out his employer for ordering him to commit murder. Those two skipped town as soon as they could; it seemed that the Duke’s connections with the police chief only went so far. The press, and Balthazar’s big mouth and quick thinking, ensured that all of the Duke’s nefarious plots were made known. Even Naomi was suddenly on board, confirming the Duke’s involvement in Castiel’s stabbing—although Dean figured that had more to do with the fact that she was backed into a corner, and her reputation was on the line.

Dean was happy that Heaven didn’t fall. Supernatural got outstanding reviews, the erotic services provided by Heaven came to an abrupt end as the club finally got good press. The New York Times debuted a shining and intensely positive light on it, praising Naomi and the Duke’s revitalization of a ‘historic building to represent the evolving New York persona that embodied art, love, freedom’. Even the ‘bad press’ about the Duke’s involvement in the vengeful stabbing of Castiel Grace was good press for the angels; it painted them as grieving victims, witnesses of a crime of passion gone wrong. And as Naomi said; “I suppose some bad press is good press…”

Dean had expected her to fire him, to close the doors to Heaven, sell the property since it seemed to cause her a headache most of the time, but Kevin had been right; the money they made and the crowd they’d drawn in for the play was persuasive. She had, a week after Castiel’s stabbing, asked him to come back, to write them another piece. She even offered to give Sam a lead role again.

Sam wanted nothing to do with Heaven, having left with Hannah to live across town. He performed in other theatres, slowly gaining traction in the community in his own way, on his own two feet. No shady deals, only honest fair auditions. And hell, as if it made a difference? The kid got nearly everything he auditioned for.

Unlike Sam, Dean ended up taking a deal with Naomi. He’d had every intention of slamming the door in her face—after everything she’d done to Castiel, after all the fear she’d injected in everyone involved in Heaven, she deserved nothing. She’d, in his eyes, been equally as responsible for what happened to Cas as the Duke and Raphael. 

And If it hadn’t been for Claire, he would’ve said no. But he had to take care of Claire for Castiel. In exchange for his continued services to Heaven, Dean asked for custody of the little girl. Two more seasons, an apartment with a second bedroom, and no obligation to step into that theatre; he was in. 

The theatre was quiet, and everyone watched raptly as Sam raised his head slowly, his face blank. Fog swirled around his feet, and the blue light shining from behind him almost seemed to make him glow. Slow drums beat from the pit, creating a sense of eeriness.

Dean jumped as someone dropped down into the seat beside him, their footsteps seemingly hidden as they were in sync with the music.

“Sorry I’m late! What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Dean whispered, a warm smile spreading over his lips. “It just started.”

“I see Ash brought his fog machine with him, then, did he?” Castiel asked quietly, shifting in her seat as she struggled to get comfortable. Once she’d shrugged off her coat, she leaned over and met Dean’s waiting lips between their seats. Then she pulled away, shaking a brown wave from her face. “It’s quite a dramatic effect for just community theatre.”

“If Balthazar hears you calling the brand-spankin’-new playhouse you both just opened _a mere_ ‘community theatre’, you’ll be stabbed...again.” Dean struggled to stay quiet as Castiel jabbed him in the ribs. He grinned at her. “What? Too soon?”

“That joke is going to be too soon for the rest of our lives,” Castiel grumbled grumpily. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to be kind to pregnant women? Perhaps bringing up my near-death stabbing might put stress on our baby.”

While her mouth was scowling, Castiel’s hand gripped back warmly as Dean reached over and intertwined their fingers. He glanced down at the adorable swell under her skirt, and his chest grew fuzzy and fluttery as she rubbed at it with her free hand.

“If Claire’s continuous questioning of ‘remember that one time that bad man stabbed you’ over dinner every other night hasn’t stressed you out, I imagine the baby will be fine. Besides, it’s a Winchester, it can handle some bad humour and a little stress.”

Someone behind them shushed loudly. Dean and Cas exchanged looks of amusement, and their hands squeezed against the round swell of Castiel’s belly. They looked forward, settling in to watch Sam’s play. Hannah turned in her seat and blew a kiss at Castiel, before wiggling excitedly and turning back around to watch her husband perform.

Dean may have jumped the gun with his Naomi deal. Sure, he had Claire—he’d put her under Castiel’s name almost as soon as Naomi had relinquished it. But the apartment negotiation had been short-sighted. 

Soon they’d need three bedrooms.

This ending—the one with the surprise baby, the new tiny theatre that Castiel owned with Balthazar, and the shotgun wedding between his brother and an angel—was certainly a plot twist. It hadn’t been the ending he’d originally planned where they ran away and left everything behind in the dust, but this particular ending change he was all right with. This one hadn’t been changed by cohesion or fear. This one had been changed by love, and art, and freedom. This one had been changed by choice.

Just like Celeste and Daniel, they were making it up as they went. 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Pleeeeease leave me a comment and lemme know what you think as you read. Comments seriously make me incredibly happy, as short and sweet, or as long and rambly as you choose to make them. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter!


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